Lady Liberty
by Fyrearth
Summary: America died at the end of the Vietnam War. Now, England must take care of the new America only she has no idea what she is...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I could pay my college bills easily.

…

_The rapport of gunfire sounded to the left._

_Dive to the ground to make a smaller target, fire off a round in the enemy's general direction._

_Curse as blood splattered; the men on either side falling, lifeless._

_More gunfire, more dying screams and wails of the injured and then silence._

_Army crawl to a nearby clump of bushes…running low on ammo…need to run, to go home…_

_The burning metal of a recently fired gun pressed into the back over the heart. Breath caught in the throat; eyes and mind searching, searching for any chance of escape._

_Can't die, not here, not now._

_The too familiar sound of a gun being fired, a bullet ripping through flesh and then the world faded to a darkness so encompassing all hope died._

_I'm sorry…Iggy._

Evelyn Summers jerked awake like she did most mornings those last three words ringing clearly in her mind. She huffed in annoyance at the red numbers of the clock—6:43—a little under an hour before her alarm was set to go off. However, she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep; she never could once the dream ended.

The dream.

The beginning was always different—different places, people, events all through history—but the ending would always be the same; those three words would always wake her up and she could never wake up until she heard them.

The dream had started last semester when she was taking a class on the Vietnam War. At first it was just the last bit, but it was soon joined by other parts. Evelyn had the distinct impression that the people in those other bits were somehow important, but their faces were always fuzzy and she could never really remember what happened in the morning.

She could always remember the last part though. It was as clear in her conscious mind as it was in her dream.

Evelyn splashed cold water on her face studying her reflection in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at her from a pale face framed by a messy wave of brown hair liberally streaked with blonde. Dark circles were forming under her eyes from the lack of good night's rest. That was nothing new for a college student, but only her roommates knew it wasn't related to tests or papers.

Sighing, she dressed quickly pulling on a faded pair of jeans and a red top with the iconic golden arches. She had given up trying to figure out the dream or even trying to get rid of it; the dream was just an accepted part of her now. Evelyn twisted her hair up into a loose knot holding it in place with a clip then grabbed her bag and phone heading to the library.

She had always liked history; she could see herself there so it just made sense she would be a history major. The library had become her refuge. There she could lose herself in the history books and fiction she loved so much and the dream was pushed to the farthest corners of her mind.

This morning, however, she had a definite purpose for her visit and that was the paper due in the upcoming weeks for her class on the American Revolution. She was attempting to prove that the French really hadn't been that much of a help in winning the war, but, unfortunately, the accounts she had been finding praised them.

After another fruitless hour, Evelyn gave up the hunt and hurried to class. Maybe her instructor would have an idea.

Evelyn checked her watch blushing slightly at her stomach's grumbling. She had forgotten to eat breakfast this morning and her body was letting her know it didn't approve. She ate almost constantly, but never seemed to gain any weight. Her friend and roommate, Jessica, couldn't understand how she did it. Evelyn smiled to herself; she didn't understand how either.

Crossing the street to the usual café, she waved to Jessica and Nina through the window. Jessica was waving a paper in the air excitedly pointing at the red letter in the corner. Evelyn hurried inside taking the report from her friend and congratulating her on the grade.

"You were gone when I got up this morning," Nina said. "Did you have the dream again?"

Her Mexican friend always did worry too much. "Yes," Evelyn answered truthfully. "It's not like it's anything new though."

Jessica snorted. "You don't have to listen to you muttering in your sleep and the moaning for the especially bad ones."

"Sorry Jess, but I don't even remember what the full dream is."

"Right only those three words. Who's Iggy anyways?"

Evelyn shrugged. "No one I know."

"You had to have heard it somewhere if it's in your dream," Nina pointed out.

The waiter brought them their usual orders. Jessica seemed like a typical Cali girl with her sun blonde hair, eating a salad to keep her figure so she could wear the latest fashions. Nina, on the other hand, was proud of her Mexican heritage and showed it at every possible opportunity. Her usual was a plate of tacos which she poured some special sauce over that would kill a normal person's taste buds. Evelyn ate her burger and ketchup drenched fries to Jessica's disgust.

"Do you even taste your food?"

Evelyn swallowed her mouthful taking a sip of coke to help it down. "Course I do. How can you eat that rabbit food?"

"Have you had any, you know, _episodes_ today?" Nina asked before the normal argument could get started.

There were times when Evelyn would black out. The amount of time varied, but she could never remember what happened during the time she was out. Her friends had told her that, for some of them, she would be talking, but they could only hear one side of the conversation.

"No, not today, but the day's not over yet."

Francis Bonnefoy, otherwise known as France, was quite enjoying his day. The meetings for the day had completed successfully and now he was sitting in a café where, even though the food was subpar by his standards, the patrons were interesting.

There was a group of girls specifically who he had been watching simply for their beauty, but, after catching a piece of their conversation, his curiosity had been piqued.

"Who's Iggy anyways?" The blonde had asked.

_Could they possibly be talking about Angleterre? Iggy is what_ he_ used to call him_. Francis mused to himself. He examined the girl who seemed to be the center of their attention. She was short, no taller than the English nation, and there were circles under her eyes. She wore faded jeans frayed at the hem and a fitted tee that actually looked fairly new; she had about as much fashion sense as most Americans, which is to say, none at all. When the waiter delivered their orders, she ate her hamburger with such energy she could rival a certain other nation he knew...

France sighed running a hand through his own blonde locks. America had been dead for over thirty years now—since the end of the Vietnam War—and there was no sign he would be coming back. England had yet to fully recover, and probably never would, despite the mask he put on for the others.

His good mood ruined, Francis set money on the table to cover his bill and turned to leave. It was in that moment he locked eyes with the girl. She stared at him blankly for nearly a full minute and then her eyes glazed over, her head cocked slightly to the side and she spoke.

"I'm finally free. I beat England."

Francis froze.

"He wasn't like himself at all though. He looked…so weak…"

The blonde cursed. "She's having another episode."

The French nation spared her a glance before returning his full attention to the girl in front of him. Those words and that tone of voice, victorious and yet so sad, it reminded him so much of that time after the Revolution, but that was impossible…

The darker skinned girl stood up turning to address him as the blonde took care of the shortest of the trio. "I'm sorry you had to see our friend like this sir," she said politely, "but please pay her no mind. This is normal for her and she'll be fine in a little while." With that, she turned her attention back to her friend and they left.

Francis was still too stunned to respond. He should've asked the girl's name or inquired further about her "episodes" as the blonde dubbed it.

A black square against the red of the café booth caught his attention. Picking it up, he saw it was a beat up wallet. He briefly debated about turning it in to one of the waitresses, but the wallet had been in the seat the one girl was occupying. It would be good of him to return it to her and if he had a chance to talk with her about the strange occurrence—well, all the better!

Evelyn cursed. Today was a bad day. Yesterday, she had an episode in public and when she snapped out of it (Jessica and Nina had brought her back to their apartment thankfully) she discovered her wallet missing. She had gone to look for it today, but the waiter said he hadn't seen it. Then, she failed her test in psychology and still couldn't find her wallet anywhere.

It wasn't so much the wallet itself she mourned—it was a cheap thing from some thrift store—or even the loss of her debit card or license; these things were easily replaced, but the photo she kept in it couldn't be. That one picture was worth more than anything to her and there would never be another one like it.

She checked her phone once more. Her friends were still in class, but they promised to check around campus for her. There were no new messages and Evelyn tossed the cell onto the couch returning to her search.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Curious because she wasn't expecting anyone, Evelyn answered finding a man with long blonde hair and wearing designer clothes standing outside.

"May I help you?" she asked uncertainly.

"_Oui_," he replied. Her confusion only grew at the sound of his French—it definitely wasn't a fake accent, but it also wasn't like others she had heard either. "Are you Evelyn Summers?"

She nodded.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I found this at the café." He held out her wallet.

Evelyn snatched it from his hand quickly going through the contents until she found the picture. Her parents' smiling faces stared up at her and she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you. Here, the least I can do is get you something to drink!"

Francis stepped inside as the girl went to the kitchen stuffing the returned wallet into a back pocket. He had thought she was taller than he originally estimated, but that was due to a pair of brown heeled boots. Her hair was put up in a loose knot and she wore jeans over her boots with a white top bearing the American flag.

She seemed truly grateful to get her wallet back, but France suspected it had more to do with the photo she had immediately searched for than any other reason.

"What do you want?" she asked. "We have Coke, water…maybe some tea and coffee."

"Water _sil vous plait_."

Evelyn handed him a bottle taking a can of Coke for herself. "So, Francis, are you a student here?"

"_Non_." He smiled. "I had some business nearby and happened to eat at the café for lunch yesterday."

"Good thing for me since you found my wallet." She went to take another drink when her eyes glazed over and she swayed on her feet. France jumped when she slammed the can on the counter gripping the sink like a lifeline. "Damn it," she muttered.

He placed a hand on her back sliding it down farther than was truly needed. "Are you all right?"

She pulled away looking at his hand with suspicion. "Fine. It's…it's nothing."

"Were you having another episode?"

Evelyn glared at him. "I guess you saw what happened at the café. It's no big deal really. I've had them for a while now."

So, it was a touchy subject. Running with a spark of inspiration, Francis tried, "Perhaps I can help? I happen to be a doctor."

She looked at him skeptically. "If that's some lame pick up line, you can leave now."

"Trust me, _mon ami_," he laughed, "I have much better pick up lines."

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck, deliberating. "I don't see how you can; there hasn't been a doctor yet who's found anything wrong with me."

He motioned for her to continue leaning against the counter opposite.

"I…have blackouts. They always seem so random. My friends say that I talk during some of them, but it's only half a conversation. The other times I just pass out. Then, at night, I have this recurring dream—well, the beginning and middle may be different, but the ending is always the same." Her voice, hesitant even at the beginning dropped to a mere whisper at the end.

"And, ah, what happens in this dream?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. It almost sounds like a war is going on or something and at the end there's this guy's voice apologizing to someone…" Evelyn trailed off brow furrowed in concentration. Sighing, she added, "I've given up on trying to figure it out."

_Could it be…?_ France feared to hope. He knew England had long given up on hope, but if this girl was really…well, there was a way to find out.

He waited until she turned around to fiddle with something in the sink. Casually moving to stand behind her and just to the side, he reached down and groped.

Evelyn went ramrod straight. "_Son of a bitch_!" She whirled punching France in the gut.

The girl definitely had more strength than most would give her credit for. The punch convinced him, but England would know for sure. If this girl saw England, would she have another episode? There was only one way to find out.

Evelyn continued cursing at him emphasizing each with a punch. Using a move out of China's book, he hit a pressure point between her neck and shoulder forcing her into unconsciousness.

Now all he had to do was get her across the Atlantic.

…...

A/N: So, this is the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic. Thank you to my beta Fallinsnow who makes sure my characters are how they should be. Reviews are much appreciated, but will not affect the update schedule.

Until next time!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Sad day…

…

Arthur Kirkland had decided that today was a good day. The rains London was famous for had stayed away and he had spent the morning in the garden giving some much needed care to his plants. Now, he had a cup of Earl Gray and was getting ready for an afternoon of reading.

"Let go of me you fucking perverted Frenchy! Help! Fire! Rape! Damn it, those are supposed to bring people running. Bomb! Taliban! Al Qaeda! Holy shit, put me down!"

The distressed shrieks were, unfortunately, coming from his front lawn. He set his tea and book to the side going to the door to see what the commotion was about, although he had a sneaking suspicion.

The door opened before he reached it revealing one of his least favorite people. France was smiling triumphantly holding a girl in a fireman's carry. She was obviously the one who had been screaming though she had desisted for the moment at least opting for glaring murderously at the back of France's head.

"_Angleterre_!" France called.

"I'm right here frog, you don't have to shout," England replied. "Good God, France, you can't woo them anymore so you decide to kidnap them?"

"_Non mon cher_. I…_oof_!" That was as far as he got as the girl in question had decided at that moment to kick the Frenchman in the stomach causing him to drop her. She landed in a half crouch from which she quickly sprung pulling the front door open.

Another blonde stood outside, his right arm raised as if he was knocking. He readjusted his glasses as violet eyes took in the scene through the open doorway.

"Hello…" Canada began. Kumajirou was already lumbering inside.

"Shit fuck damn they're multiplying!" The girl did an about face and ran for the back door.

Arthur, tired of having a panicked American (at least that's what he assumed from her clothing and accent) running around his house, grabbed her arm hoping to talk to her.

A fist flew towards his face. Acting on instinct built up from countless wars, the Brit blocked the blow twisting her arm behind her back so she couldn't hit anyone else. He had no intention of hurting her, but he didn't fancy getting punched in the face either.

The girl however, still had a lot of fight left. She stomped on his foot and rammed the back of her head into his nose. He cursed like the pirate he used to be as she slipped from his grasp sprinting for the back door.

Something was wrong though. She slowed, swaying unsteadily. The three nations watched as she unexpectedly crumpled laying unconscious on Arthur's kitchen floor.

They stared at her dumbfounded for a few moments before England turned on the one responsible for this whole mess. "France!"

…

"_I'm sorry…Iggy_."

Evelyn jerked awake clutching an unfamiliar comforter in her hands. It took a few moments before the previous day's events caught up with her. She bolted upright flinging the covers off and taking in her surroundings.

The room was simple, but well furnished. She was sitting on a twin-sized bed in the center with a trunk at the foot. To the left was an armoire and to the right was a window. In the corner was a desk with a lamp; a piece of paper was set against the lamp where she would see it.

Ignoring the paper, the American found her wallet and iPod sitting on top of the trunk next to her boots on the floor. Evelyn checked her wallet for her parents' picture and then pocketed both items slipping on her boots.

If only she hadn't passed out earlier. She had been so close; the door had been in reach and then her vision had gone black and all she could think was _"Not now, please oh please not now!"_ Unfortunately, her episodes never listened to her pleas and her escape was cut short.

She went to the window pushing aside the dark green curtains looking out at the garden below. She could climb down, difficult in heeled boots (why did she have to wear them today, yesterday? How long had she been out?), but not impossible. Evelyn got as far as opening the window, but the next thought to cross her mind stopped her.

Where would she go? She was in a foreign country (as the Frenchman had informed her when she woke in the car), she didn't have enough money for a plane ticket home much less a hotel room and even if she did, her passport was back in America. Evelyn hung her head in defeat closing the window.

Might as well go downstairs and face her kidnappers.

…

Arthur was in the kitchen when his wholly unexpected guest came downstairs. Francis had informed him that she had episodes and they seemed to be normal for her. She didn't look any worse for the ordeal.

After the girl had passed out, France had explained why she was here claiming England had raised America once, so he should be able to again. The Frenchman had left quickly after that leaving Arthur to deal with the mess.

Thankfully, Matthew had helped him. They took the girl upstairs tucking her into bed in the guest room. She twitched in her sleep clutching at the blankets. Matthew had gasped and Arthur had been surprised as well—as the girl's dreams intensified, so did her nation aura. It was almost nonexistent when she had been awake, but now it swelled; while still nowhere near the strength of a true nation, it was recognizable and could not be ignored.

Now the girl was awake again and the aura was gone. Arthur didn't know what to think. She looked ready to bolt at any moment; the Englishman took pity on her and motioned for her to sit.

"I see you read my note." He poured another cup of tea as she sat resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm.

"No, actually, I didn't."

That was surprising. He placed the cup in front of her and took a seat himself. "Then may I ask what you are still doing here? Usually, a kidnapped person would do everything in their power to escape especially if said person isn't being held in any way."

She sighed. "I don't have my passport, phone or enough money to get home. I don't know where I am or why I'm here. The police most likely won't believe my story because I hardly believe it. By the way, if you guys are looking for ransom, you definitely took the wrong girl."

He nodded unable to argue with her logic. "It was not I who kidnapped you; I didn't even know of your existence until the frog dropped you in my house. I apologize for my colleague's actions however. He's not the most intelligent of people and mistook you for someone else." He took a sip from his tea before setting it down. Internally, he was cursing the damned Frenchman for putting him in this situation, but he wouldn't let his "guest" see that. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I can send someone for your passport if you would like and offer you my hospitality until it arrives."

She blinked dumbly at him for a few moments. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Er…thank you. You really didn't want to kidnap me?"

He met her uncertain gaze. "No, I did not. I have better things to do than kidnapping strangers."

…

Evelyn didn't really know what to think of the British man in front of her, but she didn't think he was lying. She held out her hand and he took it after a moment of surprise.

"I'm Evelyn Summers. It's nice to meet you Artie."

The Englishman furrowed his prominent eyebrows in clear annoyance. "It's Arthur."

"Right, sorry." Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck embarrassed. She didn't mean to give him a nickname, but it came out before she could stop it. Her stomach growled noticeably and she blushed, embarrassment intensifying as she looked up at her host; she didn't know the last time she ate.

The Englishman's indifferent expression didn't change. It was the same mask he put on for the rest of the world to convince them he was truly fine and that he had moved past the loss of his former colony. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes please."

Arthur nodded going to retrieve food. "I haven't poisoned the tea."

"Huh?" She looked at the full cup of cooling tea in front of her. "Oh. To be honest, I don't really like tea."

Evelyn could've sworn she heard him mutter, "Just like an American." He returned shortly with a plate of something resembling charcoal squares. Thinking it just looked worse than it was, the American picked one up with her fingers taking a tentative bite. She blanched and downed the tea she had previously shunned.

"Oh my god Artie, has anyone ever told you that you can't cook?"

Arthur, who had returned to his own tea a moment before, looked like he was contemplating wringing her neck.

…

The rest of the morning passed in what could only be called awkward silence punctuated only now and then by a hesitant question from Evelyn and increasingly less patient answers from Arthur.

Evelyn was still wary of the entire situation. The Brit had told her they were on the outskirts of London and, she had to admit, it was a very nice house. She was given free reign as long as she stayed out of the basement (which only made her curious) and didn't cause trouble.

It wasn't long until she found the library. Her eyes lit up as they scanned the rows of leather bound volumes, many of them first editions, but she managed to quell the squeal of excitement at the amount of books the Englishman owned. Tentatively, as if they might crumble to dust, the American took down the first volume of Sherlock Holmes and curled up in the nearest armchair to read.

That's where Arthur found her a couple hours later completely oblivious to the world around her so caught up in the story. He nodded in approval and retrieved his own book enjoying the moment of peace.

…...

England woke abruptly the next morning. Someone was moving around downstairs and, judging by the smell, they were cooking something. It took him another moment to remember his American guest, but why would she be cooking this early? As far as he knew, Americans hated getting up early; it was one of the reasons _that_ idiot was always late for meetings.

Dressing quickly, Arthur made his way to the kitchen. The smell only got stronger the closer he got and, he had to admit, it smelled good. When he reached the hall, he could hear soft singing coming from the stove area.

Arthur rounded the corner examining the scene before him. Evelyn was leaning against the counter by the stove, spatula in one hand, singing to herself to some song on her music player if the ear buds were any indication.

"_Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?_" she flipped a pancake in the pan continuing. "_I could really use a wish right now, right now_." Waiting a few more seconds, she moved the finished pancake to a plate already stacked high. She turned off the stove and grabbed the plate as she turned, jumping when she saw him.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Artie! You startled me."

His eye twitched at the nickname, but he ignored it for now. "Perhaps if you removed the earphones, you might've heard me."

She smiled removing the pieces of technology as requested and placing them in a pocket. "Pancakes?" she held up the plate invitingly.

He nodded going to make tea. "You didn't have to make breakfast. You are my guest after all."

Setting the plate on the table, she replied, "With all due respect, Artie, yeah I did—if I wanted to live at any rate." The last was muttered, but he still heard it.

"It's 'yes' not 'yeah' and there's nothing wrong with my cooking!"

"Not everyone likes charcoal. Come on, there's nothing to be ashamed about; not everyone can cook…"

"Who's ashamed? My cooking's just fine." He sat at the table muttering a "git" in her general direction. She was starting to remind him a little too much of a certain other American; he had just buried those memories and didn't fancy revisiting them.

Evelyn poured syrup over her own stack of pancakes beginning to eat energetically. The Brit sighed. It appeared as if he wouldn't be able to escape those memories no matter how hard he tried. He had actually believed last night that this girl was completely different when she had been quietly reading.

"Hey, how long do you think it will take for my passport to get here?"

Arthur took a sip from his tea before answering. "That would depend on who is available to go get it and the flight schedules."

"So that means I could be here for a few days, right?"

"Yes, it would." He had a feeling she was trying to make a point. "As I told you before, you are welcome to stay here until your passport is delivered."

She quickly chewed and swallowed another mouthful of pancake; at least she had some manners. "That's good and all—thanks, really, because I don't know what I would do otherwise—but, if I'm going to be staying here a while…I mean all I have are the clothes I'm wearing now and, well…" she left it hanging unsure how to continue.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. _Bloody hell, _he thought, _I didn't think about that_. The frog had _kidnapped_ her; she hadn't had time to pack for a trip to Europe and he certainly didn't have any spare clothes lying around that would fit her. He could take her shopping—it's not like she would need much—but she had already made it clear she didn't have much money either.

"What would you need?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, another pair of jeans, a few shirts—just the essential stuff."

He nodded. "There are some stores near here where I can take you. I'll cover the cost."

Her face lit up. "Really? Thanks Artie!"

"It's Arthur!" He had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

At least he could always make the bloody frog pay him back later. With interest.

…

Arthur looked up from his book at the American's sigh. A copy of Sherlock Holmes was sitting open on her lap, but her attention was elsewhere; she stared longingly out the window one foot swinging idly.

She sighed again and, knowing he probably wouldn't get any peace if he ignored her, he asked, "What are you so interested in?"

Her attention snapped to him. "I'm only in one of the oldest and most historically saturated cities in the world and I'm stuck in here unable to see it." She sounded like it was the worst crime anyone could commit.

The Englishman laid his book to the side after marking his place. There were not many who complimented his city and he found himself liking this girl for it although the emotion was tempered by the "old" comment. "You are not 'stuck in here' as I am not keeping you hostage and if seeing the city is that important to you, we can always go out. I've lived here my entire life, so I know a fair amount about it."

Evelyn perked up, her whole body screaming excitement. "Really? You'll take me sightseeing?"

Arthur only nodded and was rewarded with a cheer from his guest. In truth, he loved his capitol and would gladly show it off to anyone who wanted to see. Unlike a certain American he once knew, however, he did not force tours on others especially when those others had seen the sights every visit.

He pulled out a light coat for Evelyn before donning his own and they left with the American chattering happily about the things she wanted to see. They boarded a bus taking them downtown to Arthur's normal stop outside the Parliament building.

"Second star to the right and on 'til morning."

"_Peter Pan_," Arthur identified the quote.

Evelyn pointed at the clock tower. "Yep, Big Ben. It's the landmark they use as a reference point to get to Neverland. Oh wow! It's Westminster!" She began talking about its history, which he already knew, but he was a bit impressed by her knowledge.

They spent the rest of day touring the city with the American regaling him with each landmark's history; he corrected her when necessary, answering questions when she asked, but otherwise stayed silent. Arthur found himself truly impressed with the girl's knowledge. Most never bothered to learn their _own_ country's history, much less that of another.

He took her back in the late afternoon, after lunch, much to her chagrin.

"But I haven't seen the British Museum or the Tower yet," she whined.

"You can hardly expect to see it all in one day."

"Yeah, I guess," she conceded. Then, she smiled again giving him a rather unexpected hug.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he asked, stunned.

She pulled back. "Thanks for showing me around today. It was awesome." She disappeared up the stairs before he could reply.

Arthur ran a hand through his already messy blonde hair. Damn Americans were all the same…

…...

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful reviewers! Especially to one kind reviewer who pointed out the problems with my French which will be fixed in the future.

Thank you also to all the people who added this story to their faves/alerts! I honestly didn't think this story would be that well received.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, there would be a lot more pirate Arthur and his brothers would've made an appearance sooner.

…

There was a lot Arthur learned about Evelyn in the next few days. She disliked tea, but had nearly depleted his supply of hot chocolate; she was curious, but knew when to remain silent; she hated the French (a sentiment he couldn't find fault with), but gave them credit when due, though he couldn't think of an example off the top of his head; most of all, he learned she was an orphan.

The realization came about one day when he, once again, noticed her hand stray to her back pocket where she kept her wallet. The leather square was always with her even when she wasn't going out that day. There were also times when she would just stare at the picture of her parents for hours, oblivious to the world around her.

From what France had told him, that picture was worth more to her than anything else and how that snail-eater knew any information of value he would never know.

Still, he couldn't be entirely sure and so he asked her, "Shouldn't you call someone and let them know you're alive?"

Evelyn looked up from her book slightly panicked. "Oh my god! Jess and Nina are probably worried sick. I'll go call them right now." The girl jumped up and ran to the phone in the hall. It wasn't long before he could hear nervous laughter and apologies.

The Englishman shook his head. She obviously had never considered what was going on at home, only her own situation like a typical American. The American entered the room again about twenty minutes later rubbing her neck sheepishly—his long distance bill would be hell this month.

"I have a cell phone plan specifically for out of country calls," he told her setting down his tea. "It makes my home phone bill cheaper."

"Heh, sorry Artie. You should've told me earlier."

He nodded, asking politely, "How are your friends?"

"They're a little peeved at me, but they understood."

England raised an eyebrow. "You told them you were kidnapped?"

"God no!" She laughed curling herself back into her favorite armchair. "I told them it was a family emergency—my estranged uncles in Europe and stuff like that. I was just in such a rush that I forgot my phone."

"What about your parents? Won't they be worried as well?" He didn't want to bring up the subject, but he had to know for sure.

Her smile disappeared entirely. She averted her gaze to look out the window, towards the sky, saying, "My parents aren't around anymore; they haven't been for a while."

There was a small pang of guilt for bringing up her bad memories. He knew what it was like to lose someone close to you and he hated it when the others would ask if he was all right—he was damn it!—but he still couldn't stop himself from replying, "I'm sorry."

She turned back to him wearing a sad smile. "I'm used to it. Stupid counselors at school try to get me to talk all the time." She shrugged. "I guess they just keep passing the file along hoping the next one will get something out of me."

Arthur nodded. He didn't believe in therapy. There were plenty of people before the concept of therapy had been conceived who dealt with and moved past their problems without paying someone a fortune. He told her as much adding, "You seem to be doing well enough without their help."

"Thanks," she smiled weakly some of her usual brightness shining through immediately followed by an annoyed expression. "Some people try to talk to me like they understand, but they don't."

"Precisely," the Brit responded without thinking. "They believe by asking the same questions repeatedly they can solve a much deeper problem."

He had never been to a psychologist, but the other nations had tried to fill that role; a certain Frenchman in particular had annoyed him to the point where he had stabbed the offending nation with a tea spoon—repeatedly and perhaps a little viciously.

"Exactly!" the American exclaimed gesturing wildly. "See, you get it."

A moment of understanding passed between them. Arthur returned to his book while Evelyn went to the kitchen.

…

To Evelyn, Arthur was a mystery. His house was full of antiques and he acted like an old man, but he didn't look that old—hell, he couldn't even be in his late twenties. During the tour of the city, he would make a comment or answer one of her questions talking like he had _been_ there. It was strange and fascinating all at the same time.

Then again, he had a library overflowing with books of every kind. His history collection could rival that of the National Archives or the British History Museum. She suspected he was a somewhat closet history nerd—she would laugh her head off if she found out he did re-enactments in his spare time.

Perhaps the biggest mystery of all was the way he acted around her. It was as if he was searching for something, waiting for her to do something (though what she had no idea). He never smiled and there were times when his scowl only deepened—mostly during her more idiotic—what he called her "American"—moments.

There was one time in particular that really confused her. She couldn't remember how the subject had come up, but she was telling the Brit a story about one time at a club. A drunkard would not leave Nina alone and, ever the quiet one, Nina had trouble telling him to go away.

Jessica had been on the dance floor and so it was up to Evelyn to help. She had told him in no uncertain terms to back off and he had responded rather crudely. Pissed as all hell, the shorter girl had responded by kicking him in the groin and giving him a bloody nose.

They had been thrown out, but Evelyn didn't regret her actions. "Someone had to be the hero," she remembered saying nonchalant.

Arthur, who had been asking the occasional question as he listened, had gone deathly silent. Putting down his teacup, he excused himself and left the room without another word. She hadn't seen him for the rest of the day.

She did hear him though. Throughout the afternoon, she could hear muted crashes and thumps coming from his office. There was a brief lull around supper, but then the noise started up again; it didn't sound as angry however; it was more rhythmic.

Evelyn stayed in her room listening to the sounds as she lay on her bed on her stomach, cheek resting on her crossed hands. She couldn't help but think she had just done whatever it was the Englishman had been watching for.

Around nightfall, the noise stopped and she began to grow worried. The Englishman had sequestered himself in his study and hadn't even come out for tea. Thinking he must be going through withdrawals, she made a cup of his favorite Earl Grey and knocked on the door.

"Artie?" No answer. She tried again knocking a little louder this time. "Artie, I made you some tea. Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know what I said, but…" She tried the handle; it was surprisingly unlocked and so she let herself in.

Arthur was at his desk, head resting on one arm with the other outstretched holding what appeared to be an old-fashioned toy soldier. As silently as possible, she set the rapidly cooling tea at one corner and examined the sleeping Brit. Moonlight streamed through the window muting the colors of the room and highlighting the shadows under the Englishman's eyes. His eyes were puffy, like he had been crying, but he looked content judging by the lack of a scowl; it was also probably the first good sleep he had in days if not longer. He mumbled something unintelligible and shifted minutely still holding onto the wooden soldier.

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck and bit her lip. It didn't seem right to see the uptight Englishman in such a vulnerable state. She didn't want to wake him, but she couldn't just leave him as is either.

Looking around the room, she spotted a neatly folded blanket sitting on the arm of a chair in the corner. Coming to a decision, she shook it out and gently laid it over Arthur's shoulders being careful not to wake him; he stirred, but remained fast asleep.

Smiling to herself, Evelyn padded out closing the door quietly behind her.

….

A/N: So I'm sorry for the long wait and then the short chapter, but homework and real life slapped me in the face these past couple weeks.

By the way, you all should check out my beta's, FallinSnow, story England's Private Moments. She's showing a different side of our dear Artie and it is hilarious!

Reviews are much loved. Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: As everyone keeps reminding me, I don't own Hetalia.

…

When he woke the next morning, he was stiff from being in such an awkward position all night. He laid the toy soldier to the side and stretched, his spine cracking loudly in the otherwise silent office, noticing the cold cup of Earl Grey on his desk.

Strange.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he thought back to the night before. The cup hadn't been there when he came to his study and he hadn't left to get one. If he had left his office, it would've been to get rum. He had been sorely disappointed to find the decanter in his office was empty, but he didn't want to go out and get anything with his American guest around.

Especially if it looked like he had been _crying_—which he had most certainly not been doing, that would be ungentlemanly.

The spare blanket fell from his shoulders and the still slightly groggy England put two and two together. Evelyn must've come in last night; had she been worried?

He picked up the teacup and took it to the kitchen to rinse out. Evelyn hadn't woken yet judging by the lack of dishes in the sink; it was an annoying habit of hers—she would rinse her dishes out, but leave them in the sink instead of putting them in the dishwasher.

Arthur sighed still stretching out all the kinks from the night. Realizing he never retrieved the mail from yesterday (and the American certainly wouldn't pick it up), the Brit made his way to the front door pausing when he noticed his guest in the living room. He was about to wish her a good morning when he looked closer. There was a book open on her lap, but her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular. She was sprawled out on the couch with her head resting against the armrest, mouth slightly open, twitching occasionally as she slept. Arthur shook his head in wonder. He had given her a nice bed, her own room, and she had chosen to fall asleep on the old couch—well, she had no right to complain when she woke as sore and stiff as him.

"Sorry Iggy. I should've been here sooner."

His whole body tensed. There was only one person who had ever called him that infernal nickname. For a fleeting instance, he had the overwhelming urge to lock himself in his office again, but no, it had been several years now and it was time to man up and move on.

He eyed the girl on his couch critically. The words had come from her mouth, but the tone and inflection, the apology, had been another person entirely…and it was a person he had been trying hard to forget. Perhaps it was time to face those memories head on.

Was France right? Could this girl be…? No it was better to squash all false hopes before they began.

He continued to retrieve the mail sorting quickly through it. Among the items was a small package labeled "Priority mail" which he opened shaking the contents into his palm. A little blue book fell out, the front bearing an Eagle clutching arrows and an olive branch in its talons—an American passport.

The Englishman flipped it open revealing the smiling face of Evelyn along with her information. Glancing through, he saw she had been to France once, but the book was empty otherwise. That piqued his interest; why go to a place when you claim to hate the culture?

He could always ask her later. Arthur turned back to her information where the birth date caught his eye: July 4. He felt like he had just been punched in the gut. England gripped the passport tightly leaning against the door to stay standing.

This didn't mean anything, he told himself. There were plenty of children born every day, in America and around the world. There were probably dozens born on the fourth of July. It was just a large coincidence; it didn't mean anything. He had her passport now. He could send her home and then all this foolishness would end.

Nodding to himself, he went to the living room intent on waking the American and telling her the news. When he saw her however, he wavered. She was tossing and turning mumbling in her sleep. The book fell to the floor with a dull thump, but she still didn't wake. Arthur reached out hoping to stop her thrashing when she suddenly stilled breathing in short gasps.

"I'm sorry…Iggy."

Arthur recoiled as if slapped while Evelyn jerked awake. That apology had sounded so full of regret, so sad, so _final_; it broke his heart all over again. His earlier resolve completely crumbled. He couldn't send her away yet, not without knowing for certain.

Evelyn rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of her dreams, startling when she caught sight of her English host. "Oh! Mornin' Artie."

"It's 'morning' not 'mornin'. You should learn to enunciate and good morning to you as well."

She rolled her eyes as she stretched. Then, as if realizing something, she turned to him seriously. "Hey, do you know if my passport has come in yet? It's been about a week now."

Arthur slipped the little book into his pocket casually keeping an indifferent mask so she wouldn't detect the lie. "No, there's been no sign of it yet. Things are quite busy however and there's been no one to send for it."

Evelyn gave a heavy sigh and then brightened suddenly. "I know! I'll just call Jess and ask her to mail it to me."

England found himself panicking a little. This girl actually had some intelligence unlike a certain other idiot. Thinking quickly, he reminded her of the lie she had told. "Didn't you tell them you were staying with family overseas? Do you really wish to explain how you got here without your passport?"

"Aw crap, I forgot about that." She seemed to deflate thinking about what he said. "I'll just leave it up to you then." She smiled stretching one last time before jumping up.

Arthur shook his head at her second-by-second mood swings.

"I'm going to make breakfast: eggs and bacon and toast. You want tea, right Artie?"

He followed her into the kitchen fingering the passport in his pocket. He felt guilty for lying to her, but it wasn't as if she was unhappy here and he would send her home once he found the truth.

Evelyn busied herself with making breakfast taking it upon herself to start the water for his tea. Arthur sat at the table watching her. She did remind him an awful lot of another American, but there were some stark differences as well—their genders and heights the least of those differences.

"Here you go!" She placed a plate of food in front of him along with his tea, sitting opposite. The American dug in oblivious to the Brit's internal struggle.

He took a sip of the tea and immediately spit it back out.

"What's wrong?" Evelyn asked concerned.

Arthur looked at his teacup like it was a personal affront against nature. "How the bloody hell do you mess up tea?"

…

Evelyn continued asking about her passport over the next few days. Arthur kept up his lie keeping her attention elsewhere with visits into the city and his personal collection of books. She was quite persistent however and it was beginning to wear down the Brit.

Her passport was actually sitting in the top drawer of his desk underneath a stack of papers. England checked it every morning always debating about whether he was doing the right thing. In the end, he would always slam the drawer shut once more and return to his daily tasks.

After one such time, he exited his office to find one of his least favorite nations sitting at his kitchen table. France sipped at a glass of wine seeming to ignore the English nation whose house he had so casually invaded.

"What are you doing here frog?" Arthur snapped.

"Why, _mon cher_, I simply came to check up on you and _petite __Amérique_."

The Englishman stomped into the kitchen. He wanted a drink, but he would be a gentleman and settle for tea. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

Francis shrugged. "I was the one who found her."

"And then promptly dumped her on my doorstep!"

They could hear Evelyn coming down the stairs; the only time she was quiet was when she was reading. "Hey Artie, I heard yelling and…" She saw the Frenchman sitting at the table and was immediately pissed.

Arthur was always amazed how quickly her moods could change and there was never any warning. She was much like the sea in that aspect, constantly changing—one minute as calm and smooth as glass only for the peace to be shattered moments later by a sudden tempest. How he missed the sea; the old pirate never had to be a gentleman for her.

"Oi! French fry!" Evelyn yelled glaring at Francis. "I've got a bone to pick with you!"

France smiled placing a hand over his heart. "_Moi_?" he asked innocently. "I couldn't imagine why."

She stomped up and got in his face placing her hands on her hips. "You know perfectly well why! Who do you think you are randomly kidnapping people like that especially when they've shown you a bit of hospitality?"

"I was merely returning the favor _ma petite_." France replied simply.

"And how do you figure that?"

"If I had not, then you would not have met _Angleterre_." Francis took a sip of wine grinning in that way of his. He leaned in close until he could whisper in her ear saying, "You seemed most grateful when I returned your wallet _ma chere_, why so angry now?" The Frenchman blew into her ear and Evelyn backpedaled, face a deep crimson as she covered both ears.

"Th-th-that's not the point!" she managed to stutter out.

France got up from his seat moving back into the girl's personal space as he leaned in close. "Why so flustered _ma petite_?" He tilted her head up with one finger; her blush deepened.

A cookbook collided with the Frenchman's head. "Leave her alone frog," Arthur threatened one hand straying to more lethal projectiles while using his other to sip his tea.

Evelyn took her chance and bolted back upstairs.

France straightened rubbing at the new lump on the side of his head. "So mean, _Angleterre_."

"Go be a pervert somewhere else Francis. I'm not in the mood to deal with you." England sipped at his tea listening as the American stomped around upstairs obviously upset.

France sat back at the table picking up his wineglass once more. "So you believe she is _Amérique_?"

"I'm not sure what I believe," England sighed.

Francis looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. "_Vraiment_? I thought you would've sent her home by now if you weren't convinced."

Arthur stared into his teacup as if it would hold all the answers. "I just don't know anymore, Francis. I had accepted that _he_ was dead and now there's Evelyn and she acts so much like _him_ and yet…" he ran a hand through his already messy hair, sighing again, "I don't want to get my hopes up."

The Frenchman set his glass to the side picking up on his friend's melancholy. "Fear not _Angleterre_," he said trying to help the English nation's mood. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Arthur scowled. "Several times," he growled. "Shall I start listing them chronologically or alphabetically?"

"Oh, how you wound me!" Francis declared dramatically.

"Get out frog before I find something more lethal to throw and maim you with."

A casual observer might take that threat jokingly, but France had known the shorter nation for a long time and he had no doubt the Englishman would follow through; Francis shuddered as he remembered Arthur's pirating days.

He swiftly took his leave.

…

A/N: Yay! Another chapter! Btw, there's a Sherlock Holmes reference in this one thanks to my lovely beta Fall in Snow.

Also, I found out that I can see who's reading my story and what country they're from! You have no idea how amazing this was for me. I was like a kid in a candy store. It was awesome to see people from different countries were reading this. Of course, now I have to make sure I do my research and I apologize in advance if I insult anyone. I have no intention of doing this, but you never know what might happen unintentionally.

Did you know French fries are actually from Belgium? Random trivia for the day.

Reviews are always appreciated. Until next time!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I still don't own Hetalia. However, I will have fun with the characters.

Arthur read his book in his chair enjoying the relative quiet as Evelyn flipped through the movie channels looking for something to watch. The evening wore on and the sun sank below the horizon no longer offering the natural light the Brit preferred. He reached up turning on the lamp in the corner.

As he did so, his eyes were drawn towards the television screen. Somehow, the girl had found a channel showing an American horror movie. On screen, an attractive teenaged-girl was making her way down a dimly lit hallway, the overhead lights flickering ominously. Arthur sighed. These movies were all so predictable. In a minute, the lights would die completely and the monster/ghost would appear and kill her; the cycle would continue through the rest of the movie leaving only one couple alive and a teaser for a equally bad, if not worse, sequel.

_Who could ever be scared by such rubbish?_ Arthur thought absently before turning back to his book.

As predicted, a scream came from the television speakers. However, it was immediately followed by another one and a pair of hands clutching to his arm. The Brit jumped at the sudden contact nearly dropping his book. When he settled, he looked down to find Evelyn holding to his arm for dear life (and her grip was much stronger than he would've given her credit for) trembling with eyes closed in fear. She must've launched herself at him from the couch when the ghost appeared seeking the closest source of comfort—why she chose him, he had no idea.

He opened his mouth to tell her to get off, but paused. The American girl was kneeling by his chair trying to make herself as small as possible, still trembling. She was biting her lip cutely, in a childish way, and hiding her head in the small space between the back of the chair and the armrest.

"Bloody hell," he sighed with no real heat behind it.

"I'm sorry," Evelyn apologized, the words muffled by the chair. "I thought I could handle it this time, I really did. Nina said this one wasn't bad, so I thought…I'm sorry." Her grip still hadn't lessened on his arm however; he was glad he didn't bruise easily.

The Brit set his book to the side marking his place first. First things first, she had to let go of his arm. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Evelyn, why don't you move back to the couch?" It wasn't really a question, but he didn't think yelling at her would help the situation in the least.

The terrified college student shook her head adamantly. "But Artie…it's scary…"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. What had he done to deserve this? "How about if I move with you?" He didn't even notice his voice changing, taking on the natural paternal tone that had developed during his Empire days. "I can't turn off the movie from over here and certainly not with you clutching my arm like that."

Evelyn thought about it then nodded slowly.

Carefully, Arthur stood half-dragging the girl and moved over to the couch hitting the power button on the remote as they sat down. Evelyn curled up in a tight ball next to him. The Brit stiffened at the even closer contact, but forced himself to relax; if he was on edge, she would never calm down.

Awkwardly, he rubbed small, soothing circles into her back cursing the reminder of another American he used to care for. Unsure what else to do, he began to sing. The song was an old lullaby, but that wasn't all that important; what was important was the low, calming tone he sang it in never once pausing in his comforting motions.

Gradually, the American's iron grip loosened and her eyes closed as if weighed with lead though she fought to keep them open. Her whole body relaxed and she slumped limply against him, breathing regular.

Arthur sang a few more bars to make sure she was truthfully asleep. Careful so as not to wake her, he extricated himself from her now slack hold gently laying her down. Taking the quilt from the back of the couch, he tucked her in pushing back a stray strand of blonde hair tickling her nose.

His breath caught in his throat. She reminded him so much of _him_, it pained his heart. Every memory he had pushed away, all the time he had spent trying to forget—it was all for nothing. France had claimed she was the new America. If he was wrong, then the English nation would remind his old rival just how fearsome the former British Empire could be.

The Englishman whispered a "Sleep well" to the peaceful American and retreated to his own bed.

Evelyn's episodes had been few and far between since she arrived, none had been anything of consequence. However, her dreams had continued without fail every night; Arthur could sometimes hear her mumbling in her sleep.

The Brit did wonder about her infrequent episodes. If what the Frenchman said was true and her episodes were related to America, then the girl should be having _more_ of her blackouts the more time she spent with him. Perhaps he had just been lucky so far.

And then his luck ran out.

Evelyn lay on her stomach in the Englishman's library/study a variety of historical texts spread around her. She would flip between the pages in no discernible order taking notes in a notebook she had borrowed (stolen) from him. At one point, she flipped to a map of the old Atlantic trade routes. Suddenly, she stilled.

Arthur looked up from his paperwork at his desk. Her eyes were glazed, her head tilted slightly to the side. Then her finger started to trace the route from London to Boston absently.

"Hey England, have you really traveled all over the world?"

The nation didn't know what to do. "Evelyn?" he asked concerned.

He recognized that bright, idiotic smile that seemed to take up her entire face and the excitement in her eyes at the prospect of adventure. "I want to travel all over someday too, just like you!"

England remembered this conversation. He had been teaching his new colony geography adding in stories of his own experiences (minus his piratical endeavors of course) and the young nation had become excited over the prospect of perhaps accompanying his guardian on a voyage one day.

"Maybe Mattie could come too. I'd hafta protect him 'cause he would get scared though."

Even then, he had tried to be the hero. As far as England knew, Canada had never been afraid of sailing, but the elder twin would always claim he had to protect his brother. Arthur got up from his desk going to kneel beside the clearly oblivious American. He rested a hand on her back and she jumped, the haze clearing from her eyes.

"Ar-Artie!" she exclaimed startled. "Damn it." She rubbed at her eyes irritably; the insult wasn't aimed at her host. "I thought I was getting better." Evelyn jumped to her feet surprising Arthur and almost knocking him off-balance.

"Are you okay?" the Brit asked also standing.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just fine." She gathered up the books awkwardly not meeting his eyes. Arthur had learned early on the girl didn't like talking about her episodes, but this one seemed to have her agitated for some reason.

"Do you remember any of it?" On the one hand, he wasn't sure if he wanted her to remember, but it was the only reason he could determine for her current mood.

"No, I never can," she replied distractedly. The American fixed her ponytail nervously, biting her lip. She would tell him what was bothering her soon; he just had to be patient. "I been to a lot of doctors since my episodes started, but none of them can find anything wrong with me. The psychologists think it's some sort of PTSD, but it came a whole lot later, so it can't be that."

She must be referring to her parents' deaths though Arthur didn't know the exact details.

"I thought I was getting better," she continued rambling. "I mean, since I've been here, I only had that one really bad episode and that's when I first got here! I still have my dreams, but everyone dreams, so that's not that big of a deal and then this happens! I don't know why I'm even bothered by it anymore; I gave up on trying to figure it out a long time ago."

The Brit had listened to her rant as she paced the room uncertain how to deal with a frantic American girl. After all, the last time turned out so well.

"You know what, forget it. I'm going to make some lunch. You hungry?" She all but raced from the room. Arthur followed her soon after.

He watched her closer after that waiting for the next episode. It came not long after. Evelyn had come across the wooden toy soldier. The paint was almost completely faded, but some detail could still be determined such as the uniform. Arthur had made each soldier himself hurting his hand in the process, but it was worth it when he had seen his boy's smile. Now it was just a reminder of things he had lost.

The English nation found his guest on her knees in the middle of the hall. She was holding the toy loosely in both hands, her eyes glazed over like the last time. Her mouth opened and he listened filling in the missing pieces with his own memories.

When Evelyn came back to the present, she looked at the toy in her hands, then to Arthur, confused. The Brit shook his head taking the wooden soldier from her sadly. He didn't want to talk about it and the American felt it wouldn't be good to ask.

She was bored. Scratch that, she was _beyond_ bored. Arthur had returned to work and she felt guilty knowing he had taken time off because of her, but he had also left her alone in the house; it was raining, so she couldn't just go for a walk.

Evelyn huffed, retreating back upstairs to her room passing one of the few doors Arthur always kept closed. She paused. He had said it led to the attic; he also said his family had lived here for as long as he could remember, so there had to be something of interest up there.

She opened the door and flicked on the light as she ascended. At the top, she took a quick look around smiling triumphantly.

Arthur's attic was a literal goldmine.

When he got home, there was no sign of the ever-present American. He called her name a couple times and received no response. His heart beat a little faster; he would never admit he was worried, after all, she hadn't been here long enough for him to get attached.

Nevertheless, he climbed the stairs quickly (he did not run) to check the guest room only to find the attic door open. Now worried for entirely different reasons, Arthur went up relieved to find the American and annoyed that she was rifling through his things.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

She looked up from a chest of things from the Victorian Era grinning excitedly. "Heya Artie. How was work?"

"Normal unlike everything else at the moment. Now answer the question!"

"I was bored and curious. Do you even know what you have up here? Museums would kill for some of these things and you're holding them hostage in your attic. I mean, seriously!"

He knew perfectly well what his attic contained, and she wasn't the first to suggest he donate some of it to museums, but they were his things damn it! His memories—good and bad—and he could never part with any of it.

Something metallic glinted in the harsh light of the bare bulb. It was enough to catch Evelyn's attention. Pulling something long and thin from between two boxes, she whispered in some awe, "This can't be real…"

Arthur examined the object. To him, it wasn't all that impressive: a simple black sheath serving as home for a cutlass, the golden hilt now tarnished with age. Engraved into the cross guard, he knew, were the words _A Gentleman Pirate_; it had been a gift from the monarch of the time.

Evelyn grasped the hilt; the blade rasped against the sheath as she drew it from its resting place. Gleaming dully in the artificial light, the sword still held traces of its old deadly elegance. "This is a captain's sword," she declared confidently. She looked at it closely running one finger over every inch until she found the engraving. "A _pirate_ captain's sword," she corrected herself, eyes lighting up further if that were possible.

"Do you have an interest in pirates?" Arthur asked a little hesitantly.

"Are you kidding? Pirates are awesome! Especially English pirates." She posed dramatically, sword held at an imaginary enemy's throat. "Taking down the Spanish Armada, claiming Mastery of the Seas," she continued punctuating each point with a different pose, "sailing to the far corners of the world looting and plundering, building a reputation feared by merchants and Royal Navy alike."

He leaned against the doorframe. If she only knew what kind of reputation he had. The corner of his lips twisted upwards as he remembered.

"So you can smile." She stood with the sword at her side, grinning foolishly. "I was beginning to think you were a grumpy old man all the time."

Arthur scowled again in irritation. "I'm not old."

She pointed the sword at him still grinning. "Aye, you are! And I, Captain Summers, will make you walk the plank. To the Locker you grumpy old landlubber!"

The girl obviously had a romanticized view of pirates propagated by those American movies and modern culture. Perhaps he would show her what a true pirate could do…

His eyes darkened fractionally as he moved, side stepping the blade and grabbing her wrist, pulling her off balance. He followed with a swift kick to behind the knees jerking the blade from her hand as she was sprawled on the floor. Moving in front of her, he set the tip of the blade just beyond the edge of her nose so she went cross-eyed looking at it.

"No one threatens Captain Kirkland, especially with his own bloody sword."

Evelyn looked truly frightened now. He had knocked the wind out of her and her breath came in shallow gasps, eyes never leaving the blade. She would never last in a real battle. Arthur pushed his pirate side away resting the sword at his side as he offered her a hand up. She took it cautiously; almost afraid she would provoke him again.

In a spur of the moment decision, he reversed the blade and held it out to her. The American looked at him questioningly and he nodded in encouragement. She grasped the hilt once more and he moved behind her placing a hand over her own as he adjusted her grip.

"You were holding it wrong. The sword should be an extension of your body; a fall like that shouldn't have disarmed you so easily."

He pulled back and watched as she swung the weapon experimentally testing the new grip. She smiled and his lips quirked upward at her joy.

After about another minute, she retrieved the sheath and put the sword away laying it almost ceremoniously on top of the trunk she had been perusing before.

"I wonder what else is up here," she mused choosing to ignore his abrupt personality switch for the time being.

"All manner of things I would imagine."

She went to another trunk kneeling as she opened the lid. Arthur caught a flash of red, the wood and metal of a musket…

He rushed to the trunk slamming the lid back down. Evelyn, startled, jumped up and back. The Brit was breathing heavily, once more trying to push down those painful memories and afraid of what would happen if the girl had actually seen that coat and musket. Would she have another episode? Would she even remember if she did?

"Artie, are you okay?" she reached a hand out as if to lay it on his shoulder in comfort. He turned quickly brushing it away though not unkindly.

"Perfectly. I think we've had enough of these old memories for one day. I'm sure you must be starving by now."

Her stomach grumbled an affirmative and she blushed. "Can we get hamburgers?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. What was with Americans and bloody hamburgers?

A/N: Finally! Sorry this is so late, I'm probably should've gotten this up yesterday with Halloween and all…

Anyways, guess what I went as for Halloween? A pirate! Hell yeah, I was Captain Kirkland. :D

Reviews are always loved and appreciated. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out quicker…

P.S. I had a lovely review from someone and I really wanted to respond, but they had PM disabled. Sad day. I do try to reply if you've taken the time to write out a well-thought out, constructive review. I love it when I hear back from an author I've reviewed for and I'm sure others feel the same. So, to that reviewer, I'm glad you like the story so much and I will try to keep Artie from being a complete emo. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Never have, probably never will.

Arthur was beginning to worry. His ever present and curious guest was nowhere to be found. She had been acting strange this morning eating his cooking with little to no complaint; then again, she hardly ate preferring to pick at her food while staring into space and then disappearing afterwards. It was past dinner time now and he still hadn't seen her and, if he only knew one thing about Evelyn, she never missed a meal.

He ascended the stairs pausing outside her room. The door was cracked open and he could hear faint sniffling from inside.

"Evelyn?" he called softly pushing open the door.

The sniffling stopped. "Hey Artie, what's up?" she asked voice quivering as she tried, and failed, to sound like her normal cheerful self. She was sitting at an angle on her bed hiding something behind her back; her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.

Arthur leaned against the door frame crossing his arms and effectively pinning her in the room. "You haven't been yourself today." He began, prodding at her gently for information.

"Ah, well, you know, just didn't sleep well last night," she attempted to brush him off.

He cocked an eyebrow at her while looking pointedly at the hand hidden behind her.

Evelyn bit her lip and pulled out the picture she always carried running one finger down the edge thoughtfully. "You've lost someone too, haven't you Artie?" Her voice held a distant air to it.

The Brit stiffened, hands curling into fists at the words. "Why do you assume that?" he asked defensively as he held back from hissing at her.

"There are times when I point out something or ask about something, you get this far away look in your eyes and you try to avoid the subject." Her voice took on an aggressive tone as she tried to verbally make him retreat. "Also, sometimes when you're talking to me, it's like you're remembering someone else." She stared at him fighting the tears as he wouldn't meet her eye.

"Yes, I have, but it was a long time ago." Arthur's voice was distant, defeated, as he forced out the words.

Evelyn nodded looking again at the picture and sniffling at the change in his tone. She had wanted aggression, anger, anything to help her forget. She had never wanted to hurt him—not the one who cared and looked after her as if she was his own family. She looked away from him. "They say that time heals all wounds, but I disagree." She took a shuddering breath before trudging on. "It only numbs you to the pain, makes it bearable, but it never fully heals." Her eyes grew misty as she looked back at him desperate for his emerald eyes to meet hers. "My parents died when I was twelve, on this date. They left me at home by myself to go out to dinner. We had a neighbor across the street who would check up on me, brought me dinner and stuff. When my parents were coming back, they were hit by a drunk driver at the intersection. My dad died on impact. Mom wasn't so lucky." She sniffled rolling her eyes back and looking to the ceiling in a desperate attempt to stop the hot tears from spilling over.

Arthur froze, eyes still not meeting Evelyn's, but he was no longer on the retreat; no longer running from the girl who he was beginning to understand was pleading for someone to stay, not demanding space alone. He moved his head looking at her through his bangs. He had always wondered what exactly happened to her parents, but he wasn't one to pry especially about something as sensitive as this.

"Our neighbor drove me to the hospital," the girl continued her breath hitching as she continued to fight off tears. "When we got there…" she started choking as one does in pain of the heart begins to show itself in the clogging of the throat and nasal passages, "there was nothing they could do for her." Her voice grew thicker as she began to lose her fight. "They tried to make me leave, but I wouldn't. There wasn't anyone else, so I sat and held her hand as she died." Three fat drops slid down her cheeks before she tilted her head down and took a controlling breath. "My grief counselor was the one who told me about time and pain." She looked to him. "Maybe we both just have problems letting things go." She attempted a smile at him, but it was broken in all the wrong places. His heart gave a clench in pain as old memories of blue eyes threatened to surface.

Evelyn wiped away the tears, her breath calming as she shared her pain with him and gained strength from it. "I usually visit their graves just to talk to them you know?" She looked away from him and out the window. "I carry around this picture so I can remember them how they were and not…not what I last saw them as." This time her smile, though not as extravagant as normal, was genuine and laced with hope as she looked at him. Their eyes met for a moment. A new pain made its way into her heart when he looked away from her, pain dancing in his eyes.

Arthur felt guilty. It was because of him she couldn't visit her parents' graves like normal. Perhaps he was being selfish keeping her here, delaying giving her the passport, but then she had stopped asking for it as well. Blue eyes flashed in his mind again as an "Artie" echoed through his mind. He took a deep breath steeling himself. He could nothing about the…he could help Evelyn.

He crossed the short space to her side resting a hand on her shoulder while looking out the window. "He would've liked you."

She looked at him quizzically glad he hadn't fled from her in her moment of cruelty towards him.

"The one I lost. You…remind me a lot of him." His voice was soft, quiet, almost not even there, but it was steady and smooth. It was pain diluted by time. It was a pain that would never leave yet would become more bearable.

Unexpectedly, she hugged him, her fresh tears welling up and soaking through his shirt. The Englishman patted her back awkwardly. He paused just as awkwardly not knowing how to deal with this…or did he?

"How about some tea?" He spoke gently placing a hand on her head for a second before moving it.

Evelyn made a face.

"I'll make hot chocolate for you. Honestly, you Americans can't appreciate a good cup of tea."

She made a sound that was between a laugh and a sob, but it was still an improvement and, for some reason, it made him feel better. This was right.

A/N: Yes, I'm a horrible, horrible person. I made you wait this long and it's so short. However! My lovely beta Fall in Snow pointed out that this chapter and what will now be the next didn't really go together as this one is depressing, bonding moment and the next is cheerful fluff with the BTT! Hmmm, that seems like an oxymoron…anyways…because the next chapter is already written and edited, it will be up shortly. I won't have to wait another month for my beta to actually edit it and then have to rewrite it because she tore it to shreds. *goes to emo corner for a bit* At least it sounds better now.

Remember, reviews are loved and appreciated. Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Hetalia.

She didn't know when she gave up trying to go outside alone; she just knew Arthur always seemed to be there when she tried. It wasn't like she was a hostage either, no, it was more like the Brit was _afraid_ to let her out of his sight. She appreciated the fact someone cared about her well-being, but his constant presence was becoming a bit stifling.

A few days previous, he had taken her to the library after already exhausting the Englishman's rather extensive one. She had taken the time to email her friends as well sticking with the excuse of a family emergency. She didn't know why she lied. Maybe she just didn't want to worry them…or maybe, she admitted to herself, she just didn't want to leave yet.

No matter how much she complained about the amount of school she was missing or her acting like a prisoner, like it wasn't her choice, she was only here because she didn't have a passport or the money…no, the truth was, being around Arthur was peaceful. It was the most peace she had found since she had lost her parents and she didn't want to lose it just yet.

That didn't mean she didn't miss her freedom. She had also taken the chance with computer access to search for a club nearby. She just needed the chance to let loose for a while, without her temporary guardian around, and a night out at a club was just what the doctor ordered.

Evelyn went to bed early waiting, fully dressed under her covers, until she heard Arthur go to his room then an hour more so he should be firmly asleep. As silently as she was able, she crept down the stairs skipping the one that always creaked and went outside locking the door with the spare key under the flower pot.

She sat on the stoop and put on her boots still listening for any sign that Arthur had heard her. Determining it safe, the American walked to the club humming absently to herself.

The Ruins was a hub of activity. Evelyn sat at the bar letting the music pulse through her and sipping on a Coke as she watched the crowd. She had never been to a club without her friends and she was beginning to think it wasn't such a good idea. She didn't have anyone to watch her back in case of trouble so she couldn't enjoy herself fully.

A guy slid into the seat next to her and ordered a drink. "You here by yourself?" he asked raising his voice to be heard over the music. He didn't have a British accent—a tourist then or a student.

"No, my friends are on the dance floor." If he knew she was lying, he might try something and she definitely didn't want that.

"Really? So then why are you over here?" His tone implied he knew she was lying, but he was trying to be friendly.

She spared him a look. He wasn't half bad: short spiky brown hair and brown eyes with a genuine smile; built, but not overly so. "Yeah, and what about you?"

"My wingman ditched me after he found his own girl."

"That's one of the worst lines I've ever heard," she laughed.

"Nah, I got worse ones, but that one's the truth." He stuck out his hand. "Mark."

She took it. "Evelyn."

"I like it." He hopped down from the stool and sketched a bow. "Would you like to dance Miss Evelyn?"

"I don't know. Clowns aren't really my type."

He put a hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me! All I wish is for a dance from the prettiest girl at the ball."

She couldn't help it. Evelyn burst out laughing as she took his hand and led him onto the floor. Her heart beat in time with the bass and Mark allowed her to lead resting his hands lightly on her hips. She put one hand against his neck and let herself go. The music and energy of the crowd fueled her and they went from one song to the next with neither talking nor passing that invisible, uncomfortable boundary.

Finally, they pulled apart. Both were slightly out of breath, but it felt good and Evelyn wasn't ready to go home yet.

"I need a drink," said Mark leaving the question hanging.

"Yeah, me too."

"Wait here, I'll get it." He slipped away finding the easiest path through the crowd.

Before she could catch her breath, someone grabbed her hand and spun her moving her through the crowd effortlessly. When she was let go, the back of her knees bumped against a booth seat and she fell into it too dizzy to remain standing.

She looked across the table where a familiar face sat.

"Oh, _hell_ no!"

Francis simply winked raising his glass in a toast. Evelyn tried to stand, to walk away, but another hand grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her down.

"Relax girly, we just wanted to talk."

She turned to face the speaker. It was an albino, his German accent not quite what she was used to. Directly across from her was a Spaniard; he had been the one who had spun her across the floor.

"And what makes you think I want to talk to you?" she retorted.

"Because I'm the awesome Pru-Gilbert!" he corrected himself at the last second.

"Prugilbert?" she teased crossing her arms. "That's a strange name."

He took a swig of his beer flipping her off.

Rolling her eyes, she asked, "What were you going to say, before you corrected yourself?"

"I'm the awesome Prussia!" he declared proudly.

Evelyn looked to Francis questioningly.

"Think of it as a nickname _ma chere_."

"Okay, why do they call you Prussia and why do you think you're awesome?" She inquired turning her attention back to the albino.

"Haven't you ever heard of Prussia?" he asked incredulously.

She ran a finger idly around the rim of a glass Francis had pushed her way. "Historically, yes. Prussia was once a small Germanic state which quickly expanded through conquest. Its biggest opposition was Austria-Hungary which was overcome during the time of Otto von Bismarck who was a real political badass. It hasn't been a country in years though; not since before World War I when the Germanic states unified and became Germany, so my question still stands."

They stared at her.

The American shrugged. "I'm a history major." She thought about it for a minute. "Oh, I get it. You were cool at one time, but now you're just part of something else—in short, history."

Gilbert choked on his beer overdramatically while Francis and the Spaniard laughed.

"I like her," the Spaniard managed to get out. "_Me llamo_ Antonio. Nice to meet you." He added a playful wink to the end of his introduction.

"Evelyn. Now, if you don't mind, I was actually enjoying myself until you kidnapped me," she threw a look at Francis, "again."

France had seen her at the bar and had watched as she danced with the boy. He had pointed her out to Prussia and Spain telling them about his suspicions about who she truly was.

"America? No way," Prussia had immediately shot it down.

"I have to agree with him on this one, _mi_ _amigo_," Spain said. "She doesn't seem anything like that idiot."

"Talk to her yourself," France challenged. Spain and Prussia shared a look before the former went to get her, spinning the American at a dizzying pace through the throng.

She held her own well against Prussia not realizing just how close to the truth she was. France was positive that this girl was America, but England was being difficult. The English nation was afraid—afraid to hope, afraid that she might disappear—just in case she wasn't who they thought…but he was also afraid of what would happen if she regained all of America's memories.

Francis couldn't help but sigh every time he thought about that. Everyone could see just how much Arthur had been hurt with the lost of the American nation, but the Brit would never admit to it. Evelyn had become something of a replacement, and Francis believed the girl thought more of Arthur than even she knew, but the Englishman was still afraid. If she regained all of America's memories, would she leave?

Evelyn turned to leave flinging one last insult over her shoulder, but she paused on the edge of her seat giving the flashing lights rapt attention.

Prussia went to prod her, but France stopped him.

"Watch_ mon ami_." He had seen her eyes glaze over—the prelude to one of her episodes. She didn't disappoint him. Within the next few seconds, she began to speak, but her words weren't her own and the three nations couldn't help but listen.

"Hey Iggy, it's the fourth of July." She paused and France stopped the other two from answering. "Well, I was just thinking, if you ignore all the other stuff, those flares kind of look like fireworks." She laughed nervously. "I never thought I would spend my birthday in a hole, but you've been here longer than me, huh? Never mind, I shouldn't have brought it up." She sounded so dejected, but the next moment she smiled saying, "Thanks Iggy."

Evelyn blinked as the memory faded falling back against the seat. She looked between the three of them before asking, "What did I say?"

"You don't remember?" Antonio asked.

She shook her head. "I never can. My friends always have to keep track of it; I have a whole journal at home filled with random half conversations. Damn it, why am I even asking? I gave up trying to figure it out a while ago."

Francis still told her what she said. Gilbert looked to him asking for an explanation, but the Frenchman waved him off; he would explain later.

The American rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I've had that one before during the actual fourth of July. Scared Jessica…tried to rush me to the hospital…"

"Does Arthur know where you are?" France asked already knowing the answer.

She stiffened, not meeting his gaze. "I'm an adult and he's not my dad. I don't have to tell him anything."

Then why did she sound like a kid caught doing something they shouldn't? _He_ had sounded like that through much of the Revolution. Prussia and Spain recognized it as well from their dealings with the idiotic American during World Meetings.

Prussia slung an arm around her shoulders. "Come on America, we'll walk ya back."

"It's _Evelyn_," she snapped. "Geez, just because I'm American doesn't mean you can call me that and you don't have to take me back. I don't need a babysitter."

"_Oui_, but it can get dangerous at night." France reminded her.

"And that just shows how awesome I am."

She rolled her eyes, but allowed them to lead her from the club.

Evelyn got up the next morning thinking she had successfully snuck out and came back without Arthur knowing. Said Brit was sitting at the table when she went downstairs reading the paper, a cup of tea sitting by his elbow.

She poured a bowl of cereal and sat across from him.

"Good morning," he greeted her, amusement all too evident in his voice. "Have a good night?"

Her spoon splashed back in the bowl. He _knew_. The bastard knew and he had let her go. Evelyn cursed and then asked, "How?"

He folded the paper setting it aside. There was the hint of a smile on his face. "I'm a light sleeper," his brow furrowed in annoyance, "and the frog called."

She cursed again.

Arthur sipped at his tea as Evelyn returned to her cereal, pouting.

A/N: And here's the next chapter as promised! Thank you to my Prussia awesome beta Fall in Snow and to all my reviewers/favorites/alerts. You guys seriously make my day!

Next chapter, the other countries get to meet Evelyn and chaos ensues. Mwuhahahaha! I should not write these notes on a caffeine high….

Reviews are loved and appreciated as always. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

England sat at his desk late one evening sifting through reports ranging from the economy to international relations. Evelyn was lying on the floor lazily kicking her feet; she had come in earlier, most likely bored which had resulted with her trying, and failing, to annoy the grumpy Brit. At the moment, she was tapping her fingers against the wood floor in a random ever-changing tune.

Arthur was re-discovering he could ignore almost anything as long as he forced himself to focus on work.

The American sighed and gave up her tapping. She was _incredibly_ bored. The original idea had been to get a rise out of her temporary guardian since it always proved entertaining, but, so far, all that happened was her being ignored.

"Artie?" she tried for his attention.

He continued to ignore her scratching away busily with his pen.

"_Aarrrtiiieee_," she whined rather pathetically rolling over onto her back. Arthur's eye twitched as he continued working. There was a shuffling sound as Evelyn wiggled on the floor stretching out to reach something under his desk. There was more scuffling and more wiggling as she moved back to the original spot. Silence reigned in the room before pressure was pushed on the calf of Arthur's leg and click sounded throughout the room. The motion and sound repeated again and again and again until…

Arthur slammed his pen down leveling a glare at Evelyn that sent most sane men running. Of course, Evelyn wasn't a man nor was she proving her sanity at the moment. Evelyn just grinned triumphantly.

"For the love of _God_, what?" He all but hissed at her fangs bared and eyes an eerie livid green.

She tilted her head back to look at him completely unfazed by his wrath. "You do know it's the twenty-first century right?" She asked an overly innocent look on her face.

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion. Of course he knew what century it was; he was centuries old. He told her as much, anger dissipating at the random question, wondering what would prompt such an inquiry, and if he was going to regret not telling her about Patrick's gaming systems.

"Okay, so do you even know what a computer _is_?"

The Englishman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Evelyn, I do." His voice was a groan of a man answering what color green was.

"Then why don't you have one? Come on Artie, all that paperwork would be so much easier with even a dinosaur desktop not to mention e-mail. You wouldn't have to lug so many papers home every day and you have to think about the green movement. I mean, do you know how many trees you're killing?" He gave her a blank look. Didn't she realize they used trees for everything—homes and, in the olden days, ships?

A Cheshire cat grin was plastered on her face as she turned to him. She was trying to get a rise out of him by calling him an old man in a roundabout way. The worst part was she was succeeding (not with the old, but the being annoying part). What had he done to deserve this? Yes, he had constantly been warring with France and he hadn't treated Spain all that kindly after the whole thing with the Armada, and maybe a few things during his imperial days, but surely this…this new American annoyance was punishment far beyond what he deserved. The first one had been bad enough!

He periodically enjoyed the arguments he had with Evelyn. They were relaxing in a strange kind of way with their sense of familiarity.

"I don't need a computer." He responded with a sigh. "Even if I owned one, most of this paperwork would still be printed out for me to sign regardless."

"Tree killer," she muttered loud enough for him to hear, a grin on her face.

Arthur turned back to his papers retorting with an affectionate "Bloody git."

A few more minutes passed in the warm atmosphere before Evelyn took out her iPod and put in the ear buds. Now maybe he could finish his work in peace.

He finished a few more documents before rubbing his eyes tiredly. The conversation had reminded him about something he had picked up for the American and now was as good a time as any to give it to her—maybe she would even leave him alone once she had it.

Opening up a desk drawer, he took out a small rectangular plastic object tossing it to Evelyn. She caught it after fumbling with it holding it up for examination.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A mobile. I expect someone from your generation to know what that is." Arthur responded mocking her a bit from the earlier conversation.

She rolled her eyes. "We call it a cell phone. Why are you giving it to me? What if you get a call from work?" Evelyn was honestly curious. She had been phoneless for just over a month now, but she hadn't needed a cell since she'd been in London either. She just used the house phone to call her friends or sent them an e-mail whenever she had computer access at the library. Arthur sputtered indignantly.

"In case you need to contact me and I'm not around; I've already put all the necessary numbers in it. Like I would give you my work phone." He grumbled to himself.

It had been a spur of the moment decision to buy her the phone, really. He had worried (only a little) when she snuck out a few nights previous and the streets could be dangerous at night. Now, if something did happen, she could contact him or he could find her.

"Oh. Thanks Artie." She flashed him a smile starting to play and discovering its limited capabilities i.e. no internet. "Hey, were you ever a dad?" she asked suddenly and rather off-handedly.

Arthur jerked at her voice before freezing, comprehending what she had said. She had caught him completely off-guard. Images of a blue-eyed little boy briefly flashed before his eyes. He took a deep breath attempting to sound normal despite his still rapidly beating heart. "Why do you ask?" He busily shuffled his papers on his desk to distract himself.

"Um, because you act all parental even though you can't be that much older than me." Evelyn seemed to notice a change in Arthur and she put her phone in her pocket. She turned her attention to him and took notice of his frenzied motion, his stiff shoulders.

_If she only knew_, he mused that blue-eyed child turning to face him with a beautiful smile. Focus old boy, now how was he going to answer Evelyn? It wasn't like the relationships between nations worked the same as human ones. The echoes of _Big Brother_ echoed through his mind. No, nation relations were definitely different. _I'll be the hero and kick Nazi ass, you watch me Iggy. I'll be your hero._ The voice continued to echo.

Evelyn's constant mood swings saved him not only from the question, but from his memories which were playing havoc with him.

"I'm exhausted," she yawned jumping up from her spot on the floor. "Night Artie."

The Brit stared in disbelief as the American went to her room. She had done nothing but annoy him all day. How the hell could _she_ be tired?

He needed a cup of tea.

A/N: Hello again! I hope everyone's Christmas/holiday was awesome. I know I promised the world meeting in this chapter, but I really wanted this scene in here and my beta doesn't like when I put two completely different scenes in the same chapter (it's a pet peeve of hers really). So, we took this one and made it longer for a mini-update before the world meeting.

Thanks again to my incredible beta Fall in Snow for her editing work. If it weren't for her, my chapters wouldn't be near as good. And thank you to all my reviewers/faves/alerts. You people don't know how happy it makes me to see all those e-mails after I've updated.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Ciao for now!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

How did she keep getting herself into these situations? Evelyn thought to herself as she put everyday of P.E. she had into effect. How hard was it to stay out of trouble like Arthur said? Obviously harder than Arthur and she had thought or she wouldn't be madly running through London. Her foot caught on something or nothing and she frantically regained her balance as shouts sounded behind her. Despite the burning in her thighs and stomach she couldn't help her mind wandering back to Arthur.

She hadn't seen Arthur go into work. He had left her at the fountain in a business park. She had assumed one of the buildings was actually the one he worked in, but she hadn't seen him go into any of them. Evelyn was almost positive he worked for the government; she had overheard him talking to the Prime Minister after all! Today though, he said he had an important meeting to attend and would be gone all day. He told her where he would be and then said she was free to wander as long as she stayed out of trouble and they had parted ways.

Trouble really had been the last thing on her mind when she discovered the street market by the Thames. She had been browsing the different wares when she came upon a group of three boys harassing another smaller one. One petty insult had led to another and another. Of course, being the oldest and most mature, Evelyn had won the petty match of wits making her feel rather smug. The boys hadn't taken too kindly to her smirk which was why she was now mindlessly running through the streets of London franticly keeping familiar streets and buildings in her sights. This led her straight back to where she had parted with Arthur. The boys' angry shouts and taunts followed her getting ever closer. Making a split second decision, she headed for the closest building to their meeting place.

Evelyn burst through a heavy set of glass doors with the boys' jeers behind her. She didn't stop once she was inside and didn't realize the doors had slowed the boys down. Instead, she kept going, her adrenaline-riddled brain urging her forward. Two men in blue uniforms appeared before her and she jumped around them continuing away from her pursuers with angry shouts echoing through the lobby.

She was on the third floor before she slowed ducking through the first set of doors she saw. The American leaned against them hoping the guards would pass her by and then she could call Arthur and explain what happened and…

"Evelyn?" Well speak of the devil and he shall answer.

Broken from her frantic panic (as they hadn't really been boys chasing her, but two burly guys with arms as big around as she and the boy being tormented was really a wimpy office worker and damn was London dangerous!), she took a moment to look around her surroundings wide-eyed. She was in a large _occupied_ conference room. The occupants were of all different nationalities, which was weird enough, but they were all staring at her like _she_ was the strange one. She was only an American in London; what could be more normal than that? She made a face at her own stupid thoughts—they weren't normal for her. A movement of someone standing caught her attention.

Arthur was the one who had spoken; he was near the head of the table closest to her. Francis wasn't too far away; he blew her a kiss, she flipped him off completely forgetting the room full of people. For some reason, a brunette beside him started frantically waving a white flag and crying. A blonde at the head glared at her British guardian.

"Evelyn!" Arthur reprimanded her. Hopefully it wasn't for the rude gesture since the Brit had given her almost express permission to insult the Frenchman whenever possible. However that permission didn't extend to just bursting into his very important meeting, out of breath and without warning.

Damn her thighs hurt. Her gym teacher would have been proud; she might've been able to get an A out of the bastard. He was kind of strict…like Arthur…who was looking at her expectantly…

Oops.

He marched toward her his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Evelyn bit her lip, thinking. "I was, uh, running?" She attempted a smile that was more of a grimace.

He was trying hard to contain his temper. "_Why_ were you running?" The only way to describe his voice was tight as he physically bit back his temper with a stiff jaw and the shaking in his white knuckled fists.

"There were these guys picking on a smaller kid," it came out before she could stop it. Well, her version anyways, Arthur wouldn't have like the real version and he already looked like he was on his way to a stroke; she wasn't going to be the one who pushed him over the edge. "You should've seen this kid; he looked so pathetic that I couldn't just leave him there, so I told them to back off. They told me to stay out of it and called me a stupid American. Well, I couldn't just let _that_ slide, so I said I rather be stupid than someone who's too cowardly to pick on someone their own size and…er, there might've been something else…" She didn't feel like she was twenty-one anymore, but fifteen trying to explain why she punched the kid at school.

"What else?" His voice was low, an exasperated growl.

"Um, well, I know how sensitive _you_ get about it so I thought it might work with them too. I kind of told them that the Americans kicked their asses once and I would be happy to do it again." There was that mature argument from earlier. Somehow the more she looked back at this, the more she should have just talked to a cop or something more rational. What was with her and the not-like-her decisions?

Arthur let out a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose waiting for her to continue. His shoulders slumped a little so that meant she was winning, right?

"That's when they took out their knives and I'm not dumb enough to stick around after that, so I started running and I ended up here. That's it." Arthur moved towards her and the door. Hopefully he would reprimand her someplace more private, i.e. not the conference room.

Francis burst out laughing. "She has a bit of a hero complex, _non_?"

"Shut up frog!" Arthur snapped releasing enough of his anger to make Francis cower.

_That must be some evil glare_, Evelyn thought absently.

He turned back to Evelyn opening the door and stopping a security guard who had been looking for the girl who had infiltrated the building. He gave Evelyn a warning look before addressing the guard. The American had yet to see the fury on his face but it must have been terrible since the poor guard was shaking as he escorted her to Arthur's office standing outside to keep her there.

England paused at the door still not facing the rest of the nations as he reeled in his temper. He had thought she was in serious trouble when she came bursting through the door like the IRA was after her. It had sparked an old feeling of rage in him—something eerily similar to his Empire days when another country had wanted a piece of America. He needed to redirect his anger.

France laughed again catching his attention and allowing him to turn his anger into the familiar annoyance for the French nation. He would have to thank him later or just not hurt him as much for the rest of the day.

The Englishman tuned back to the other nations present. He knew his eyes were livid by the way Italy crawled under the table to sob on Germany's boots while waving his white flag. He took a deep breath and, temper back in control, moved to the table with France making a pass at his ass as he passed him. He resisted the urge to strangle the frog for the simple joy of it. It would help immensely towards improving his mood, but it would go against his non-verbal thanks to France. Said nation caught his eye and gave him a stern nod.

Bloody frog reading his mind.

The English nation had never met anyone who could get into so much trouble and give him such a headache…no, that wasn't true. He just hadn't met someone else in over thirty years.

"England-san, if I may ask, who was that?" Japan's quiet voice carried through the sounds of Italy's sobbing Evelyn's entrance had resulted in.

How to answer that question? He wasn't sure if he believed it himself.

"Poor _Angleterre_ is still coming to terms with my discovery of _petite Amerique_."

The stupid snail eater was far too pleased with himself.

"She's America?" Germany questioned skeptically. "She doesn't have the nation aura."

Canada answered. "She does, but it's weak. It's more noticeable when she's dreaming." England had kept the Canadian up-to-date with the situation. Alfred had been Matthew's brother after all; the boy deserved to know what was happening.

"Dreaming?" Italy asked. "So, she's only a nation when she's asleep?"

"_Non_," France answered. "Her dreams are America's memories. She is still unaware of their true significance however and _Angleterre_ is quite adamant about not telling her."

"We're still not entirely sure," England spoke up. "After all, she's shown no sign of truly recognizing any of us."

"_Oui_, but her dreams, her actions…"

England shook his head. "…Could be something else entirely."

"What if we let her sit in on the meeting? Perhaps she would remember more?" Japan suggested.

It met with mixed reactions.

Arthur's office resembled a Captain's quarters on an old fashioned ship than the stereotypical offices she had seen on T.V. Dark wood paneling covered the floor and walls giving the room a rich feeling of comfort. A huge polished desk was the center focus when walking into the room. Piles of paper were stacked in an order that only Arthur knew and yet, for being in the twenty-first century, there was no sign of a computer or laptop. Maybe he had one of those fancy computers built into the desk.

She moved over to the desk peeking around it like someone might attack her for looking. No build in computer. She looked up out of the window situated behind Arthur's desk only to blink dumbly. It wasn't a window at all but a huge painting of the ocean. She should have noticed something was off when she had seen the blue sky and the wooden ships. On either side of the frame, stood two flags: the Union Jack and England's own St. George's Cross; between the flags was an old timey globe. Tasteful waist-high bookshelves connected the corner of the picture frame to the walls. Looking up and around she could see the hidden lights that had been used to make it look like light was coming from the painting.

Other pictures hung on the walls above the shelves, but the images were too small for her to see without being right on them.

Evelyn spun around in a full circle her eyes landing on the real window in the office. It had a window seat complete with crocheted pillows. She idly wondered which little old lady had made them for him. She had always wanted a window seat, of course, hers would be more modern not the horrid floral pattern with the embroidered pillows someone's grandma had given him. Either way, window seats seemed like the perfect place to curl up and read in, especially after today's ordeal. It looked like Arthur thought the same because there was a book sitting invitingly on the cushion.

She picked it up curling herself into a comfortable position in the window. The book was a well-loved copy of _Hamlet_. It wasn't her favorite of Shakespeare, but it wasn't her least favorite either. She opened the cover and began to read.

Arthur stormed into his office, slamming the door open, mouth already pulled into a firm frown. He paused upon looking at the room, face morphing into one of slight confusion at not seeing his charge, but then he heard the turning of a page and he noticed her sitting in the window intently reading his copy of _Hamlet_. His eyebrows furrowed irritably.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead," she informed him before setting the play aside and hugging her knees to her chest.

"As they should be for being gits and not standing by their friend's trust." Arthur quipped scolding the reckless girl in his own way. He reaffixed the frown on his face giving her a rather unhappy, almost disappointed, look. She had nearly given him a heart attack after all.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm sorry for interrupting your important meeting, like, really sorry and I know you told me to stay out of trouble, but I just…"

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He held up a hand to stop her rambling. "You did the right thing." Arthur rolled his eyes before turning his back to her and crossing to his desk. She left the window seat following slowly and hesitantly hoping to talk to him. Taking a seat in a high-backed chair that looked like something from an evil villain movie, he swiveled to face her. "Since it seems I can't leave you alone for even a day without trouble, you'll be attending the meeting with me." She knew this was meant to be some sort of punishment, but a weird gleam in Arthur's eye made her think might be more of a revenge thing.

In reality, the other nations had decided that Evelyn should attend hoping the familiarity of the meetings would spark a memory. England was against it, but he couldn't find a good reason why he was.

"What? Oh, come on, I said I was sorry and I promise to stay out of trouble."

Then again, it would be just as much torture for her as it would be for him. "You're coming with me and that's final." He grinned. "Besides, you might just learn something."

Evelyn grumbled sinking into the nearest chair. "Fine, but now comes the important question."

Arthur raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"What am I going to wear?"

Arthur groaned already feeling a hole forming in his pocket book.

The Englishman groaned again as they entered another store. The fifth store to be exact, but who was counting. He really should have just purchased the outfit they had found in the first store, but the price! He wouldn't get vacation time for another ten years if he had purchased that suit.

"Hey Artie, what about these?" Evelyn appeared from behind a rack of clothes holding a pair of black slacks which were wrinkling horribly from the way she waved them around.

"I cannot see them while they are balled up and being used as a flag," Arthur retorted his patience seriously being tested and a dull ache starting in his head.

"Oh yeah." She gave a nervous laugh before letting the slacks unfold and holding them up by the waistband for him to see.

He gave them a quick once over wrinkling his nose at what he saw. He really did not know all that much about women's fashion especially when it came to teenage girls, but he was sure the article of clothing he was currently examining was inappropriate. They were black flaring at the ankles. The waistline looked far too low.

"The zipper is not even five centimeters long!" he exclaimed. "I will not have someone who is living under my roof dressed as a harlot." He had been to clubs (he went out drinking with Prussia and Denmark after all) and noticed the clothes the girls wore there, but something like that was not at all appropriate for a business setting.

"Geez, you sound like such a dad. Lighten up old man." She put the slacks back looking for another pair that would pass his inspection.

"I'm not old," Arthur protested crossing his arms. Evelyn muffled her snickering with a hand using the rack of clothes to hide.

He looked around the store trying not to think about the "dad" comment. It was a hopeless endeavor however as his thoughts strayed back to those memories. He had often scolded Alfred for his appearance especially when the boy had come running into the house covered from head to toe in mud, clothing ripped from recklessly charging through the bushes or climbing trees on some new adventure.

"How about these?" Evelyn interrupted his musing holding up another pair of slacks making sure to straighten them out this time. This pair had a considerably higher waist, were black and seemed much more appropriate for a World Meeting.

"Better." He nodded his assent groaning as the girl pulled out another similar pair draping both over her arm. "How much will this cost?" He wanted to make sure she looked presentable, but, with the economy the way it is, he _was_ on a budget.

"Relax, they're on sale." She pointed to the sign on the rack before moving to another one, this one holding blouses.

Arthur was getting tired of shopping. He hadn't gone with her the first time she bought clothes, just gave her enough cash to buy what she needed. That reminded him: he needed to get France to pay him back for the expense since it was the frog's fault for kidnapping the girl.

"Oh, this is cute." She held up dark blue button up turning to a mirror to see how it looked. The blouse itself was rather simple and he had no complaint with it. Then she held up another. It was cream colored and looser than the other one, however the material was sheer, almost translucent.

"Absolutely not!"

"I would wear a cami under it." Evelyn pouted her lower lip sticking out slightly and giving him puppy-dog eyes so similar to America's he could feel himself giving in.

"No," he replied adamantly drawing on past experience. "I told you, you will not look so unprofessional while you are living under my roof."

"Technically, I think you said harlot." She pointed out petulantly.

He gave her a don't-test-me glare holding it until she put the article of clothing back. Evelyn grabbed a few more tops holding each one up for his inspection then retreated to the changing rooms.

Satisfied everything fit and was up to the Englishman's standards, they went to check out. Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the final price—why were women's clothes so much more expensive than men's?—but still gave the cashier his credit card.

Evelyn grabbed the bags leading the way out. She was practically bouncing in excitement. "Thanks again Artie! Oh look, an ice cream shop. Can we get some? Pretty please?" She clasped her hands in front of her like she was begging, the gesture masked by the two shopping bags still in her hands.

Arthur looked between the shop and the girl for a minute. Giving out an exasperated and defeated sigh, he nodded. "Very well, but only a small treat."

She cheered nearly hitting an innocent passerby with a bag without realizing. She ran off for the ice cream shop leaving Arthur to apologize for his charge's behavior before he followed hoping to keep her from getting into more trouble.

A/N: College is a bitch. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Anyhow, thank you to my beta Fall in Snow…even though she completely tore this chapter apart and yelled at me for lack of fluff in the last part (it was seriously shorter, by like a lot, and I had to expand it).

Thank you also to all my reviewers/faves/alerts! You guys make me ridiculously happy whenever I see that little notice in my e-mail. I love you all!

As always, reviews are loved. I use them to poke my beta into editing faster. Whether it works or not…eh, depends on her mood.

Ciao for now!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Evelyn spun in the chair that had been placed behind Arthur for her. She was bored. Arthur had given her a pen and notepad with strict instructions to not use it or its spring as a projectile. She had given him a rather weird look in return. What did he think she would do? She was a history major not an antagonist. It had been a good plan to keep her occupied, but they now sat forgotten on her lap as she kept spinning.

"Do you always get here this early?" she questioned as the Englishman was trying to look over his notes for the day, but, for some reason, his gaze kept being drawn to the blank chalkboard.

"I am always punctual." He straightened his already straight collar.

"That's great and all, but you're not just punctual—that would be like ten minutes early," his face reflected his displeasure for that idea. "I mean, you're like _super_ early."

Arthur sighed setting his papers down. "The others will be arriving shortly and since this conference is being hosted by my country, it is important that I be here should any of the others arrive. Will you stop that?" He grabbed hold of the arm of her chair effectively stopping her spinning.

She jerked slightly from the abrupt stop before sticking her tongue out at him.

"How very mature." He commented returning to his notes.

The American puffed out her cheeks and slouched in the chair only to jump in the next instant as someone said a soft, "Hello."

"Good morning Matthew," Arthur greeted without looking up from his notes. He had started furiously looking back and forth between two stapled sheets frustration visible in his emerald eyes.

Evelyn looked up at the tall pale blonde man who had just come in. He wore glasses over his violet eyes and had a strange curl on one side. He felt familiar. She had to stop the urge to hug and slap him on the back; he was a stranger after all.

"Hello Evelyn," he addressed her smiling softly.

She sat up straighter. "Oh, hi!" she responded nervously gripping the arm of her chair. _Must resist touching stranger._ "Um…how do you know my name?"

He chuckled. "Well, Arthur did say it yesterday, but we've also met before—briefly."

She furrowed her brow as she thought back. He did look familiar…oh, right. "You were the guy at the front door that day." _Oh great Evelyn, that was descriptive. What happened to that college knowledge?_

He nodded offering her a hand. "I'm Matthew Williams, Canada." So that was the accent she was hearing, Canadian.

She took it and they shook. "Evelyn Summers, American." She gave him one of her warmest smiles. Arthur had since stood up ripping the sheets apart to look at them side-by-side.

"Um…" Evelyn paused, hand poised to touch Arthur's arm in concern.

"Just let him be," Matthew spoke up, voice still soft.

"But he…" She trailed off watching as Arthur's aggravation increased at the two harmless sheets of paper.

"He'll be distracted soon enough," said Matthew before moving to his seat.

Other people started making their way into the room all of them talking to one another, words becoming lost in a mix of accents. She recognized some—Francis and Antonio mostly—but there were so many others; she wondered if they were a committee and then hoped they weren't because nothing would get done.

When they had all assembled, a blonde haired blue-eyed man with a thick German accent stood up and started going over the agenda. This was odd in Evelyn's opinion. Arthur said that England was hosting, so shouldn't _he_ be the one hosting? Maybe they voted on a leader or he was appointed by the UN or something. She attempted to catch Arthur's attention to show him the hastily scribbled questions to get some answers, but to no avail; his attention was on the speaker. Evelyn went back to only half-listening, doodling idly. After only a few minutes, she grew uncomfortable and shifted, but it wasn't her position that bothered her.

No, they were all _staring_ at her. _Creepers._

She quickly averted her own gaze back to her notepad wishing she could just sink through the floor. It was so obvious she didn't belong here, not to mention Arthur hadn't even let her sit at the table, but she couldn't just leave either because the door was on the opposite side of the room; everyone would see her! That would be even more awkward. She couldn't even crawl under the table to get away.

A few of the representatives were whispering to each other gesturing in her direction. Hopefully they were talking about Arthur's eyebrows and not her. Evelyn bit her lip. She couldn't even talk since Matthew was on the other side of the room and Arthur was being a good example and listening. The American shifted again causing her chair to squeak. Arthur shot her a glare over his shoulder. She stilled returning to her doodles. It was going to be a long day and her doodling abilities sucked. Too bad she couldn't stash her iPod and listen to it. Arthur had taken that earlier in the day.

"How easy it is to slip back into old habits, eh _Angleterre_?" Francis leaned into Arthur's personal space. Arthur leaned away from him.

"I don't know what you mean frog," Arthur retorted with false innocence moving his papers to his new position.

Francis smiled knowingly moving back to throw an arm over his eyes melodramatically. "I think you know exactly what I mean. Although I think we have to be careful or you might just restart your empire." He was smirking at the Englishman now, egging him on.

"If I wanted my empire back, you'd be the first to know." Arthur hissed back with a snort at the end.

The Frenchman sighed dramatically. "What else can you expect from a former delinquent?" He waggled his eyebrows at Evelyn.

Was he _trying_ to bait Arthur into a fight? Evelyn found herself hiding a smile, but a small giggle still escaped at the image of the Englishman being a delinquent. The man didn't even own a computer; how could he be a delinquent?

Arthur slammed his hands on the table standing up, his chair rolling back. Maybe that's why all the chairs were on wheels. "Keep going frog and I'll give you another Hundred Years' War!" Evelyn looked to the representatives around her for back up, but no one was doing anything.

Evelyn didn't know what to do. Was this normal? Should she try and restrain the Englishman? No one else seemed all that surprised by the confrontation, only the German representative seemed keen on stopping it.

"Enough! We'll go on lunch break and resume the meeting afterwards when France and England can stop behaving like children." The others murmured agreement and the meeting broke up.

"But England's small enough to be a child." Antonio's voice piped up somewhere.

Arthur moved to go towards Antonio when Evelyn grabbed his arm and held him back. She didn't want Arthur to start any international incidents over lunch.

"Wait here," the Brit told her. "I need to speak with one of the others." She gave him a disbelieving look before he sighed. "It's not Antonio." She let go of him as he moved away.

Evelyn nodded returning to her doodles. If she got anything out of today, it would be better art skills. It was hardly a few seconds, not even long enough for her to truly get into the shading she was trying, after Arthur left that a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she found an amazingly tall man with platinum blonde hair and violet eyes; he wore a long coat and white scarf. His childish smile was playing havoc with her internal alarm bells.

"You are America, _da_?" he asked. His accent sounded like something from Eastern Europe, but she couldn't pin it down. It really wasn't her area of interest.

"Er, yes, I'm American." She stood and held out her hand. "My name is Evelyn Summers." _Just smile and wave boys, smile and wave_, she thought to herself hoping to get this over with and to make him leave.

He smiled, but something about it sent more shivers down her spine. "Are you enjoying the meeting so far comrade America?" He didn't take her hand and she dropped it. Little hairs on the back of her neck raised as time passed.

_Ice breaker, Evelyn, ice breaker_.

"I don't really understand what's going on actually. Are these fights common?" She attempted a pathetic smile back at him.

"_Da_, but not for a long time now. Comrade America, you are staying with comrade England, _da_?"

The girl twitched. "It's _Evelyn_ and yes I am. I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name earlier." She was staying with Mr. Manners, she might as well use them.

"I am Ivan Braginsky, Russia. Perhaps you would like to visit me sometime, _da_ comrade America?" The hairs on the back of Evelyn's neck were standing completely on end now.

Her fight or flight instincts were kicking in—flight being the wisest option—but she really wished he would stop calling her that. She would be nice though; Arthur would kill her if she got into more trouble especially after yesterday. "I would like to travel the world someday…" _Vague, vague was good._

"I think you would like it there comrade America. We have a lot of history." He was now leaning into her personal space.

Evelyn's hands curled into fists as she slowly stood. She may be short, but any height would add to her advantage at the moment. This guy was really starting to piss her off. _Don't start trouble. Don't start trouble. Don't start trouble._ She repeated it to herself over and over. She forced a warm smile onto her face as she turned to look at him.

"Are you all right, comrade America?" There was an acquired gleam in his eyes.

"Keep calm and carry on, keep calm and carry on." The American muttered under her breath to herself.

"I'm sorry comrade America. I couldn't hear you." Ivan had somehow managed an innocent sneer.

_Screw it, the saying was always more of a British thing anyways_. Evelyn's head snapped up leveling an Arthur worthy glare at the Russian. "I said," she stated clearly, "stop calling me that you damn commie bastard!" The physical version of the Cold War broke out in the conference room.

A/N: Hey guys! Just a quick update before we head to KawaKon in St. Louis. Fall in Snow and I will be dressed up tonight as Amelia (from her story) and Evelyn. Tomorrow we'll be giving a presentation as Spain and England. Come check it out if you're there! We'll be in the pirate gear.

As always reviews are loved. Later!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I have never owned Hetalia. Evelyn is mine though.

Russia's chilling laugh filled the room.

"Da, comrade Amerika, it is easy to tell you have been staying with comrade England When it is summer, you will stay with me. The sunflowers will be so pretty." Evelyn twitched at the comment.

"I don't do well when given orders," she hissed. Arthur appeared, grabbing her arm and moving her slightly behind him.

"How about we compromise? You both will stay at my house for a bit this summer. The sunflowers you gave me, Ivan, will be in full bloom and I would love for you to see them." Arthur gave a light smile, his heart still racing from the stressful situation. Russia nodded his head before ambling away. Arthur's shoulders slumped as he let out a whoosh of air. He had just invited Russia to his home for no set amount of time. He was screwed.

A hush had fallen over the room while everyone held their breath. Arthur took a few deep breaths. Of all the nations to talk to Evelyn, Russia should've been the last on the list. His history with America was not all pleasant—who was he kidding? They had hated each other—and the English nation was afraid it might spark one of the American's episodes.

"Let me go!" she yelled. "I'm gonna nuke the damn commie to hell and back!" Evelyn's voice brought Arthur back to the here and now.

Did she even realize what she was saying? It was going to be like the Cold War all over again. They hadn't been able to get through a meeting without the two trying to kill each other. England dragged her from the room.

She stopped struggling once they were in the hall, but Arthur continued to half-drag, half-lead her down the stairs. The guards at the door looked up at the commotion Evelyn was causing as Arthur dragged her, but turned back to their work like it was a regular occurrence. He dragged her across the sidewalk and to the nearest pub. Grumbling, he pushed her into a booth a pretty bubbly brunette came up with a smile until she saw Arthur's face. Her smile disappeared and she quivered slightly. This was the lunch hour; she wasn't supposed to get scary people for lunch.

Arthur ordered for them and waited for their drinks. He went eerily calm, face going blank as he looked at her, blinking slowly. She started shivering from the creepiness. If this was a form of interrogation, Arthur was the master of it.

"Evelyn…"

"I'm sorry Artie!" she cried before he could really say anything. He was creepy today! "I tried to stay out of trouble, but then that guy just kept annoying me, but I knew you would be pissed if I started something. Then I just…snapped…but he started it!" she added the last hastily as if it would save her from blame.

Arthur gave her a blank look before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be doing that a lot since the American had come into his life. "Ivan did seem to be goading you, yes, but you should still be able to control yourself. For God's sake Evelyn, the man is twice your size; do you honestly think you could have won?"

The girl crossed her arms and leaned back against the seat. "Maybe…"

He stared at her.

"Okay, no," she admitted, "but I don't always think before I act. It just happens."

"That, I believe, is more than obvious." His tone was bored, borderline exasperated.

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks, but their food arrived cutting off any retort. They ate mostly in companionable silence.

When they had just about finished, Arthur asked her, "Will you behave for the rest of the meeting?"

She made a face. "Yeah." She did not want to find out what Arthur's idea of daycare was.

"It's 'yes'. Are you ready to go?" His tone hadn't changed any causing her stomach to curl with unease.

She stuffed a couple more fries into her mouth to make up for the feeling before nodding and saying, "Yes."

Arthur finally made a face though I might not have been the best change. He placed some bills on the table and led her out.

When they entered the conference room, everyone was staring at her again. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably staying as close to Arthur as possible without tripping him up. Some of the representatives seemed amused by this; Arthur was just annoyed.

They took their seats and the meeting resumed not long after. The American resumed her doodling looking up only when those present were preoccupied with another argument—this time between Israel and Palestine.

Matthew was looking at her. When their eyes met, he smiled reassuringly at her and she smiled back. He made a face at her and she stifled a laugh. The Canadian kept her entertained for the next couple hours and, surprisingly, no one seemed to notice.

The next day was easier. The delegates fought more not paying her nearly so much attention.

Everyone was packing up to leave. Arthur turned to address the girl under his charge only to watch the notebook covered in doodles fall from her limp fingers as she slipped from her chair her breath coming in shallow gasps. Evelyn pressed her hands against her ears; slowly her fingers curled into claws becoming entangled in her hair as she screamed.

The rest of the room fell silent, all eyes turning to the girl screaming in agony. England knelt in front of her as France, calling for China, and Canada both rushed to join him. Evelyn's eyes were clenched tightly shut as she continued to scream.

"Ai ya! What's wrong with her aru?" China asked joining their group.

"She's having an episode," England replied, "but it's worse than the others and I don't know what caused it."

"She's going to hurt herself like this," Canada interjected his arm held out awkwardly as if he wanted to stop her, but was afraid to touch her.

"Evelyn," England called. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her as he tried again, "Evelyn!"

Her eyes snapped open, the screaming fading to whimpers. Tears spilled from the glazed orbs and Arthur could tell she wasn't really seeing them.

"Evelyn…?"

China took her wrist to feel for a pulse. The American flailed wildly forcing both nations back. She gasped and scooted backwards until her back was against the wall wedged in between two cabinets. Then she put her arms up blocking her face, protecting it from something only she could see.

Arthur followed her calling her name to no avail.

"We have to sedate her before she hurts herself." China informed him. Canada went for the first aid kit.

England had a feeling that wouldn't help her at all.

"_Angleterre_, try a different name."

A different name? What was the frog getting at? Then it hit him and a part of him feared what would happen.

"America!" he barked.

That elicited a reaction. She flinched lowering her arms and turning blind eyes toward him. "Sorry Dad, I didn't mean to…"

Arthur froze. Her voice sounded just like how _he_ used to whenever Arthur had to scold _him_. England looked to France for help. The Frenchman motioned for him to keep going, to do something.

Tentatively, Arthur stretched out a hand tousling her hair just like he used to do when _he_ was younger. "It's okay," he whispered.

She relaxed at his touch slumping against one of the cabinets, her breathing returning to normal. Arthur pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face breathing a sigh of relief and finding a small bit of joy from the almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips.

The bickering of the representatives was amusing to her and she even found some peace in it. Evelyn looked at the doodle she had been idly working on for the past hour. It was of Arthur gleefully firing a nuke at Francis. The two men were really no better than stick figures, but she was perversely proud of her mushroom cloud.

She swayed in her seat, the edges of her vision going black. She tried to call out for Arthur, but her voice wouldn't cooperate. Soon, she would black out.

_Explosions and screams filled the air. Everywhere she looked there was blood and death. Another bomb dropped to her left and she shied away the shockwave knocking her from her feet. She couldn't catch her breath; she had to get up and run._

_More bombs dropped. None touched her, but she felt each one as if they had. It hurt, oh how it hurt! She clutched at her head as pain bloomed fresh with each explosion, her entire body on fire._

_She stumbled, landing by the body of a dead soldier. His entire left side was missing, the one remaining eye staring lifelessly, accusingly, at her. She screamed and scrambled to get away. Someone grabbed her, but she fought the contact retreating into an alcove wishing for the pain to stop._

_The scene changed so suddenly it was staggering. She was hiding in a closet, but she also had the distinct impression that it wasn't quite _her_._

"_America!" a familiar voice barked tinged with worry._

_She flinched. He only called her that when she was in trouble…no, she had never been called that…_

_She reached up and opened the door tumbling from the closet in an undignified heap. She pushed stray strands of hair from her eyes looking up at her caretaker. He had just come back; he still wore his military uniform: the standard issue red coat with his pistol and sword still belted around his waist._

"_There you are. Don't worry me like that again!" Arthur was angry, but it was the anger of a concerned parent, not his true anger. She had thankfully never been on the receiving end of that._

"_Sorry Dad, I didn't mean to…" She hung her head. She didn't like worrying Arthur…no, that wasn't her, it wasn't her voice._

_Arthur knelt in front of her tousling her hair and smiling. "Just don't do it again."_

_The simple gesture made her happy. As long as Arthur cared about her, she was content…no! That wasn't her!_

_The scene changed again and she was back to the familiar ending: the gunfire and men dying. She crawled to a clump of bushes (no, not there!) and then a gun was pressed to her back and the bullet ripped through her. Her vision was going black…_

"_I'm sorry…Iggy."_

Evelyn bolted upright nearly smacking the Chinese representative—Yao? Yes, that was his name. She had been placed on a couch in one of the side offices.

Searching for Arthur, her eyes roamed wildly around the room until he placed a hand on her shoulder. He had been behind her. Contact with him alone calmed her and she lay back down willing her heartbeat to slow.

"Artie…" her voice was hoarse. Had she screamed in the real world? He handed her a glass of water which she greedily drank. Setting the empty glass to the side, she laid back down putting an arm over her eyes. "It's getting worse." A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye. "Damn it! They're getting worse; I felt it this time, Artie, I felt it and it _hurt_."

Arthur took her hand rubbing small circles into the back of it with his thumb. He had already explained to China about her episodes, but the older nation could find no reason for the sudden change.

"What did you see?" the Englishman asked.

"It looked like a war was going on. I could feel every bomb that exploded and there was this soldier…oh god! I can remember them now!" She stilled as if realizing something then sat up suddenly. "I saw you," she whispered locking eyes with the Brit. "It was so weird. You were dressed like a British redcoat and talking to someone you called America."

England froze. She could remember now, but she still didn't know the significance of her dreams. He could tell her everything now; tell her about the memories being dreams, about the nations, everything…but he just couldn't. "I'm sure it's nothing."

China sent him a look, but England brushed it off.

Evelyn shook her head. "It's not nothing! Artie, I've been having these dreams for _months_ now. Either I'm going bat shit crazy or they actually mean something and I just haven't figured it out yet."

"I thought you had given up on all this?" Arthur asked more than a little worried.

"I did, but now that it's getting worse I want to know again because I'm not crazy and these dreams have to mean something!" She hugged her knees to her chest resting her head against them. "If only I could figure out why I'm having them…"

China gave him another look which England again ignored.

Arthur tousled Evelyn's hair again breaking her from the miniature depression. "Let's go home," he told her.

She nodded rubbing her eyes tiredly. There were times when she acted like such a child it was hard to see her as an adult. Arthur helped her up.

"Sorry Artie," she yawned. "I kept messing up your meeting."

He smiled. "No, you didn't."

The Englishman took her back to the house and put her to bed.

A/N: First off, sorry this chapter is so short and I made you wait so long. I got rather busy with end of semester papers and finals and such like that. Eh, college, what can you do?

Secondly, thank you to my beta Fall in Snow who fixes my characterization. You should check out her new super hero AU she has for Hetalia called Alfonso. The title has nothing to do with the story, but it's my favorite of the ones she's working on and Evelyn is in it!

Thank you also to all my reviewers. You guys are awesome, like Prussia awesome, no lie. Y'all make my day when I see the alerts in my e-mail.

Reviews are loved. Auf Wiedersehen!

A/N 2: Sorry for the re-upload, but my beta decided that I should just put this all together.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Honestly, do I even have to put this anymore?

Evelyn paced angrily in Arthur's library. Journals filled with hastily written dreams were spread open at her feet in danger of being kicked across the house in an act of frustration.

It had been a week since the meeting and the dreams—_more like nightmares_—that had plagued the American in her sleep now occupied her waking hours as well. Her episodes had become more frequent particularly around a certain bushy-eye-browed Englishman. Arthur had begun to separate himself from her leaving early in the morning and not getting back until late when she was already asleep.

Not that she slept much anymore. Dark circles ringed her eyes as testament to the restless nights and strenuous days. Her eyes stung with pins and needles as they rebelled; her body trying to force them close despite her brain keeping them open. She didn't want to close her eyes afraid to see the blood-soaked battlefields, dead and dying men; she didn't want to hear their anguished screams or their cries for mercy. Her eyes watered, her body once again trying to get her to sleep.

Evelyn sighed running her fingers through already messy hair. Everything was border lining on ridiculous. Her emotions were askew with lack of sleep and, despite wanting to talk to Arthur, she also didn't for fear of lashing out at him with no reason other than her own sleep deprived mind.

Not everything was bad. Some of the spells gave her visions of the people she had already met the people who had felt familiar yet she had never seen them in her life, but those spells were few and far between and only served to confuse her more. It was not worth risking the blood and gore to hope for a good spell and sleep.

She thought back to the good spells. The faces were familiar—all representatives from the world meeting—but the dress were from various times through history, from the colonial days of America through what appeared to be World War II (she had talked to someone who looked a lot like Roosevelt). It was all enough to make a girl want to scream! And Arthur's museum-like home wasn't helping any.

The American flopped down beside the two journals flipping through one more time. At the end of each night's entry was the same thing: _I'm sorry Iggy_. She still woke up to those three words every time. If only she could figure out who the hell "Iggy" was she'd sock him a good one for whatever was done between the two, but the dreams/episodes had yet to reveal that information.

Evelyn slammed the journals shut in disgust. The more information she uncovered, the less she knew. She needed the missing piece of this puzzle; the one thing that would make everything clear. She pulled on her hair in aggravation. Everything felt so hopeless. Despite being kidnapped she had come to think of Arthur's home as a safe haven, somewhere no one would hurt her, somewhere to go where Arthur would defend her, but now the safe haven was more of a prison. She wanted to stay as much as she wanted to leave. She wanted to sit and talk with Arthur about what she saw as much as she wanted to never hear his voice again. She let her shoulders slump before jumping to her feet. There was one other place she had always felt at home, and one other solution to her problems.

She did the only thing she knew when faced with a difficult problem—she went to the library.

Arthur stared at the clock on the wall tapping his pen irritably in time with the ticks. It was already well past ten; the sun had sunk below the horizon hours ago and dark clouds hid a full moon. How fitting that this city—his heart—should reflect his gloomy mood.

He had to send Evelyn home for her own health. The episodes were worse with him around and the girl was about to drop dead from exhaustion. His thoughts strayed to the passport hidden in the desk drawer back home. He should've put her on a plane as soon as it arrived.

The little voice in the back of his head was playing havoc with his thoughts. It blamed him for the condition the girl was now in whispering that it was his entire fault. Another voice spoke whispering at him to keep her, control her, protect her like he couldn't with Alfred. Crazy she may go, but wouldn't crazy and safe be better than feeding her to the wolves? And what was to say once she left him she would get better. What was to say regular humans could help more than he, a nation? He shook his head banishing the thoughts.

Rain began to beat at the window; a staccato rhythm that he had always found comforting in the past, but not now. He scowled slightly at himself and attempted to push everything aside and act normal. The Brit took a sip of tea, grimacing as it had gone cold while he had been lost in thought. There was going to be no normal while he worried about the girl, perhaps now was when he needed to ask for help either from his older siblings or another older nation. Maybe China would have seen something like this and could help? He set the cup to the side with a sigh and retrieved his jacket and umbrella. There was no longer any point in pretending to work. All the staff had already gone home for the evening hours earlier.

England hailed a cab and gave the driver the address settling back in his seat to watch the rain fall on his capitol. There were few people on the streets—mostly pub regulars—and the lack of activity made the depressing scene only more so. He faults the distant call of alcohol to his system. It would defiantly make him forget about the happenings of now. But he didn't want the frog to come get him or, heaven forbid, one of his siblings.

Not far from his house, Arthur saw a drenched figure hurrying along the sidewalk. Long hair was plastered against her face and her bare arms were crossed against her chest to ward off the cold. It took not even half a second to recognize the frame.

"Pull over!" he barked at the driver startling the poor man out of his reverie.

The cabbie did so hurriedly looking in his rearview mirror wide eyed at the business man behind him. Arthur opened the door before the cab had come to a complete stop.

"Evelyn!" the Brit called a hint of worry he wasn't able to conceal in his voice.

She turned to face him water dripping off the end of her nose, running in rivulets down her face. Arthur's heart clenched at the sight. He needed to do something for her even if it was to just knock her out for a good night's sleep. He'd have to find a spell that would let her sleep without dreams maybe the fairies could help, despite the fact they had never really liked the girl. The American looked rather like a drowned rat at that particular moment, and a truly pathetic one as she shivered from a gust of wind.

"Bloody hell; get in before you catch cold." Arthur ordered as he stepped aside.

She didn't hesitate crawling across to the far seat.

They resumed the trip home as the Englishman turned to address his water soaked charge. "What were you thinking you git? If you haven't noticed, it's raining! You should at least have a jacket." He removed his own as he talked wrapping the warm material around her shoulders and pulling her shivering form to his chest. How cold did humans have to get before hypothermia? She was shivering like crazy, sniffling quietly too. The cab driver turned up the heat recognizing the situation and trying to help.

"I-I-I know that!" she defended herself trying to keep her teeth from chattering while pressing against the warmth and comfort he was offering. "It wasn't raining when I left for the library." She had needed this—just a hug, just some physical contact to make her world okay. The curly haired guy with the polar bear came to mind. He would have hugged her too, but she wasn't sure how she knew that.

"You're in England; it rains all the time here and without warning. It's the reason why we always carry umbrellas." Arthur's parental tone was familiar and very welcome in her tired mind.

She curled up, more in his lap now, clutching the coat wrapped around her for warmth. The inside would be as thoroughly soaked as she was, but it would dry.

For once that week, Evelyn didn't have an episode.

Despite Evelyn's small stature, she was also fucking heavy, or maybe he had gotten that weak… no, she was just fucking heavy. Arthur grunted, balancing the girl against his body as he fumbled with the eyes. Water had already drenched his clothing and it was clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

He dropped his keys onto the muddy ground. His car clicker was going to need to be replaced again. There was the sound of the door unbolting as it swung open on its own accord.

"Thanks, for getting the door. Can you find my keys? They're in the puddle somewhere." He maneuvered his way into the house setting the girl on the couch. "Mint Bunny, will you run the hot water in a bath? I need to find some of the girls to bath her." Arthur moved back to the door chattering with invisible forces as he did.

He had convinced them to bathe her and change her clothes for him as long as he took care of himself before he even thought about the girl again.

A warm pair of clothes and an internet search on hypothermia later and Arthur was walking into Evelyn's room. He felt her forehead. She was a little warm, but he would hope it was from the bath. A quick agreement with Mint Bunny to watch over her tonight and he found himself in his own bed. Looking after teenagers was bloody exhausting.

His alarm went off in the morning, though he didn't remember ever turning it on. He would have to leave a bowl of cream out for all of the fairies' help. Maybe two bowls. He slipped quietly down the hall and into Evelyn's room to check her temperature.

She was still warm.

There were signs she had slept fitfully the night before and she hadn't come down for breakfast this morning. Now, she was burning up and he suspected she had caught a cold from being out in the rain yesterday. He sighed and placed a damp cloth on her head. His mobile rang and he quickly picked up before it could wake the sleeping American.

Exiting the room and closing the door behind him, Arthur answered. It was his boss and England's mood soured—there was an important matter at Parliament requiring his immediate attention. He assured the Prime Minister he would be there shortly and hung up.

Now he had a problem. England had to go to work, but Arthur couldn't just leave Evelyn alone while she was sick. Acting on an idea, he dialed Matthew as he poured a large bowl of cream. It wouldn't be for long…

A/N: School's out for summer! Too bad I'm working a 9-5 job. Being an adult sucks, seriously, but I got another chapter out for you!

Eh, not much to say really. I'm working on a Mother's Day one-shot set in this AU. Hopefully, I get it done in time.

Reviews are loved always. Ciao for now!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

In a fluster of worried hand gestures and jerky movements that could only be performed by Arthur when he was overly worried about one of his charges and trying to hide it, Canada was updated on Evelyn's condition and Arthur left. Matthew released Kumajirou to wander and then went to check on the American himself. Hopefully she would be easier to care for than his twin had been.

He made his way down to the room he figured Arthur had put her in. Lovely hand-made quilts covered a lump in the bed. Fresh flowers rested in a vase on the night stand along with a cool glass of water and a warm bowl of soup. Arthur may not be the most modern when it came down to treating someone, but he knew how to make someone feel loved and cared for. It was one of the major reasons Arthur had a room for each of his ex-colonies and why most of them still ended up under his watch when they were ill.

Matthew made his way over to the sleeping girl in the bed. He could feel the heat radiating from her forehead without touching her. Her breathing was coming out in heavy gasps. He remoistened the cloth and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Satisfied that he couldn't do anymore for the moment, he went back downstairs and turned on a hockey game.

Sometime later and a few more uneventful checks, Evelyn came down the stairs. She was unsteady on her feet and, clutching the railing for balance, looked around. "Artie?" she called sleepily. She blinked to clear her vision, her mind registering who was actually on the couch. "Matthew?"

Matthew jumped up, startled away from his game and made a desperate motion for the quilt on the couch. "Arthur had to go into work," he explained a little too quickly. "You shouldn't be up; you're sick." Evelyn's sickness addled brain couldn't pick up the nervous hint in his voice. He wrapped the quilt around her leading her to the couch. She curled up at one end resting her head against the arm rest. He needed to find a way to convince her to go back upstairs.

"Wha'cha watchin'?" She could hardly keep her eyes open.

"Hockey. Do you like hockey?"

She shrugged. "Don' know much 'bout it." She slurred once again.

Canada froze eyes widening as her stared at the girl brain short circuiting for a few seconds before he could fully process what she had said. This, in Canada's world, was unacceptable. He began explaining excitedly as Evelyn shifted to face him. Kumajirou crawled up between them lying across her feet.

Matthew continued his explanation until the end of the game not realizing when Evelyn fell asleep. He readjusted the quilt around her forgetting about the raging parental figure who would return home. Arthur wouldn't be happy she hadn't stayed in a real bed.

The polar bear raised his head tilting it to the side as he asked, "Who?"

"I'm Canada, your owner," Matthew replied. He couldn't understand why Kuma-something couldn't remember who he was.

The girl burrowed deeper into the couch mumbling in her sleep. Arthur told him about her dreams and episodes, and he had been witness to a few of her episodes, but it was still strange to hear his brother's words coming from her mouth.

"Thanks Mattie," she whispered.

The nickname gave him a moment's pause. She acted so much like his brother; maybe it was just an American thing. He contemplated moving her back upstairs, but didn't want to wake her. Instead, he turned off the television and picked up one of Arthur's books that was lying around.

Arthur called him later saying in basic terms the issue still hadn't been resolved; Matthew could hear England's boss and a few others in the background yelling. Canada could still feel his ears turning red thinking about it. Arthur had asked could the Canadian please stay a while longer? Matthew agreed. It wasn't a difficult job after all and his boss didn't need him at the moment.

He tried moving Evelyn back upstairs in the evening, but she complained—whined loudly—and he decided it was better to leave her alone. He found another quilt and tucked it around her. Kumajirou curled up at her feet providing more warmth. Finally, he set a glass of water on the side table and went upstairs to sleep some himself.

By morning, he regretted his decision. Matthew woke up to Evelyn's scream. When he descended the stairs, he found her on the floor tangled in the quilt, crossed eyed, looking at and watching, horrified, as Kuma licked her nose.

"Who?" the bear asked him with a curious look.

Evelyn screamed again scrambling backwards in a mock crab run.

Oh, now he knew what was wrong. Talking polar bears weren't normal therefore people reacted badly to them… or Arthur had explained something like that to him when he was younger.

The Canadian picked up the polar bear moving back to give the girl space. "It's okay," he tried to reassure her.

"Okay? The last time I checked polar bears don't talk; hell, animals don't talk!" She extricated herself from the quilt standing with her back to the wall and on the defensive.

"Parrots talk and that cat on Youtube can talk." Mathew smiled at her.

"Not like that!" Evelyn cried pointing while moving as far back as possible.

Matthew smiled reassuringly. "Kuma is…special." Now how to explain? He could distract her. Should he tell her about the nations? England still didn't want her to know, but

France thought that they should, especially now that they knew for sure she was the new

America.

The aforementioned Englishman arrived home just then examining the scene in some confusion.

"Evelyn, are you…"

"Artie!" she interrupted before he could ask the obvious questions. "Explain to him that animals don't talk." She turned rather frantically to the Englishman looking at him pleadingly.

Arthur looked to Matthew; the former colony shrugged apologetically still holding

Kumajirou. The Brit sighed removing his jacket as he replied, "Matthew's does and I'm afraid it is one of those facts you will just have to accept." _It's better than the demonic koala_, he silently added. He moved to her softly resting his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

"You're probably the weirdest group of people I've ever met," the American mused picking the quilt up off the floor. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the shower."

Canada followed the elder nation into his office. England sat wearily behind his desk rubbing his eyes briefly before letting his hands run through his fluffy blonde hair. He made a motion to Mathew pointing in the general direction of the chair motioning for the younger to sit.

"I'm sending her home," Arthur said bluntly without looking up, hands still pulling at the strands of his hair.

"Are you going to tell her about being a nation?" Matthew asked taking the offered seat as Arthur looked up at him.

Arthur sighed opening the top drawer of his desk, removing the American passport and holding it between two fingers as he examined the seal. He paused a moment to look before looking up to the young man in front of him. Matthew had turned out all right. Hell he had turned out better than Arthur could have hoped. With this notion he allowed Mathew to see the turmoil on his face. He knew the Canadian had suffered just as much at his brother's death as the Brit had. Matthew had searched in his free time for years trying to find out how a national avatar could just die; he had been unsuccessful. _He_ would understand what Arthur was doing. How he was trying to protect her, give her freedom while he could.

"No," the Englishman replied solemnly. Taking a deep breath and expelling it slowly.

Matthew let his bear go leaning back in his seat. "What happens if America is attacked again?"

Arthur put the blue book down lacing his fingers and placing his hands over it. "I'm doing this for her own good." Why couldn't Mathew see this? Oh well, he would make this work. "The longer she is around other nations, the more of one she becomes. At this moment, she is not affected by what happens to her country. If I send her home now, she shouldn't progress to the point where it does."

"I hope you're right." Matthew stood collecting Kumajirou before leaving.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. His former colony's tone had never changed throughout their conversation yet the Brit could tell Matthew was at least peeved at him. So much for having one of his former charges understand him. Sometimes he understood how grandparents felt when there grandkids came in with their noses glued to a screen. Sighing, Arthur pocketed the passport and went to the kitchen to make some tea. Tea would make everything better.

Evelyn came downstairs not long into his first cup. Her hair was still damp and she was barefoot, but she looked much better than she had yesterday morning.

"Where'd Mattie go?" she asked running her fingers through her hair. He started to take a sip before answering as the words she said dawned on him. He spit his tea back into his cup.

When had she started calling him Mattie? "Matthew had to return home." He tried sounding smoother than the frazzled he felt.

The American grabbed the orange juice from the fridge pouring a glass as she snatched a store bought scone from the package. She turned in time to see Arthur's eye twitch and she smirked at his reaction.

"I didn't get to thank him; think I can call him later?"

"It's possible." He paused, doubts still plaguing him about whether this was the right decision. Arthur began to take a sip of tea before remembering he had spit in it. He took a moment to harden his resolve dumping the tea in the sink. "Something came for you in the mail last night."

Evelyn lowered the glass she had been about to drink from in some surprise. "Mail…?

My passport?" she asked excitedly. He turned the pot back on.

"Er, yes." He hadn't expected her to be quite so excited. It hurt in away, but he would put that aside and deal with that later. Stiff upper lip and all. In the days before her episode at the World meeting, she hadn't asked about her passport at all or even mentioned her home in the States; she had been calling his house home.

Taking the passport from his pocket, he placed it in her outstretched hand. She ran her thumb over the seal before flipping through the small book.

"Thanks Artie!" Completely clueless, he couldn't think of but how American it was of her. He smiled lightly turning his back to her so she couldn't see his hurt.

"You're welcome," he replied unable to share her enthusiasm. "I can get you a plane ticket for the end of the week."

"Works for me!" she replied flashing him a brilliant smile. "I'm going to have to take all my classes over again…" she mused walking back up to her room.

Arthur returned to his freshly made tea. He couldn't find it in himself to take a drink.

Two tears found their way down his check before he got control of himself. He had travel plans to make.

A/N: I know! I know this is so late and I'm sorry. My beta and I have both been having a busy summer. She's taking Calc 3 (so glad I never have to take that class) and I have some family issues going on. I hope this fluff with some plot will make up for it. (Hides from thrown rocks and other nearby objects…)

Also, if anyone is interested, I've started posting an original story of mine on my dA account. My username is sakurasurichan and the title is A Pirate's Treasure. Okay, done with the shameless plug.

Reviews are loved and thank you for still reading even with my epic lateness.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Do I even have to put this anymore? Oh, and guess who learned how to put in horizontal lines?

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><p>She was going home! Between the excitement of seeing her friends again and running around to see everything she wanted to one last time, Evelyn's last week in London flew by. She had tried to get Arthur to come out and run around with her, but he had a bunch of emergency calls from work and was always gone at crazy hours.<p>

The American girl sighed to herself as she pulled the warm cookies from Arthur's abused oven. She wasn't sure if Arthur performed voodoo rituals in it or had had an unwanted furry visitor invade and Arthur caught him in the stove and cooked him? That was just gross and she rather regretted thinking it. Though it had been true she had to have the oven self clean itself before she could even think about baking in it.

She placed the cookies on a plate and shoved them on the table; someplace the Brit wouldn't see initially but would find by the end of the day. It was a small gesture of her appreciation of what Arthur had done for her. And at least the poor man would have something edible in his home that was homemade and not takeout.

"Evelyn, Evelyn? We need to leave if you're going to make it through customs in time for your flight."

"Don't worry, Artie! I already put all my luggage in your car." Evelyn answered coming around the hall to meet Arthur.

"Yes, well then," He pulled at his sleeve anxiously. "Shall we be on our way?"

"What's the hurry? I'm already packed! I have like," she looked at her bare wrist. "Five minutes." Arthur gave her a blank look.

"We would be safer to leave earlier."

"But, but...just go start the car or something, yeah, let it warm up! It's bad to start a car in the winter and just go without letting it warm up."

"It's not winter nor is it cold enough for that to be necessary." He went to move around her only to have her step in his way. "Evelyn, what did you do to my kitchen?" His tone dropped into the parental warning, the one all children know and learn to fear.

"Pleasepleaseplease! Just five minutes and it will be clean."

"If we're late it's your fault."

"Don't worry, a hero's never late and I'm a hero!" Arthur's face contorted and he abruptly left. _I'm the hero? Real smooth Evelyn real smooth_. Evelyn mumbled mentally to herself as she turned back to the kitchen.

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><p>Arthur gritted his teeth. It was the end of the week and he had promised to take Evelyn to the airport. He really wished he could take it back. He should have only promised transportation to the airport and not that he would take her. That way he could say goodbye to her in the safety of his home, let the taxi take her away then drink himself into oblivion.<p>

He was rather proud of himself for his control this week. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since the night he had decided to give her the passport. Of course he wasn't going to think about that evening. He had woken up in the attic curled up in a crate full of old newspaper clippings. From the taste in his mouth and the conditions of the clippings he wasn't sure if he had torn them up in a fit of rage or had eaten them in a fit of drunken hunger.

"Evelyn, Evelyn? We need to leave if you're going to make it through customs in time for your flight." He called out to her. He would be a gentlemen, take her to the airport, bawl like a child while waiting in the cell phone lot to see her plane take off, bury himself in paper work then drink himself to sleep. It sounded like a plan. He was rather proud of this plan.

He was not proud of the girl who minutes before they needed to be leaving had destroyed his kitchen. He was ready to give her a piece of his mind when the words fell from her lips.

"Don't worry, a hero's never late and I'm a hero!" He blanched. He panicked. He fled.

Arthur slammed the door of his tea room leaning his back against the door as he slid down it. _Focus Arthur,_ he told himself. He couldn't lose it know.

He dove for the bookcase on the far side of the room. He scrambled to his feet grabbing the bottle of whiskey hidden behind a stack of books. He hid it from his siblings but it certainly didn't help his alcohol problem. Uncorking the bottle, he held it up only to pause. He was a gentleman and gentlemen kept their promises. He promised to take Evelyn to the airport. Drinking and driving was bad. He put the bottle down slumping to the floor again.

What was he going to do? He was losing his America again. He was losing someone he cared for and for once he was sending them away. Stiff upper lip, he could do this.

"Artie! Artie, I'm done let's go!"

"Coming!" He called out making his way out of the room to meet Evelyn, the bottle left forgotten and uncorked on the floor. Alcohol could wait, wallowing could wait; Evelyn was what mattered now.

Arthur had followed through rather well on his plan. He had bawled a little longer than he had originally planned staying in the cell phone lot after the plane wasn't visible in the sky. He was currently in the bury yourself in work part of the plan.

"Ah, England, so glad I found you. I've been trying your mobile for the last hour."

"Prime Minister," the nation said in some surprise. He glanced at the clock which read half past one; he had completely missed his lunch break. England checked his pocket for his phone irritated when he couldn't find it. "My apologies sir, but it appears I left my phone at home." It was easier to get lost in work when you didn't have interruptions of annoying frogs.

"No worries old chap. I haven't seen you work like this since before your American guest arrived. How is she doing?"

"She went home this morning," England replied. It was all for the best really; he did not doubt his choice in the slightest.

"I see. Well, while I'm here, I wanted to talk to you about the current financial situation." Internally, Arthur rolled his eyes.

That discussion had taken up the rest of the day. Arthur returned home just as the sun was setting over his capitol. He found his mobile resting on the kitchen table a green light on the top alerting him to missed calls.

There were five in total. Two were from the Prime Minister which he had been expecting, but the other three were a surprise. One was an unknown number, but the others were from the phone he had given Evelyn.

He deleted the messages from his boss without listening to them and then checked the ones from Evelyn. He honestly hadn't expected to hear from her once she set foot in America again. After all, as far as she knew, their relationship had been one of necessity: she needed a place to stay and he had the means to provide what she needed. He had done his duty and sent her back into the world. Arthur meandered into his kitchen grabbing a highball glass and the scotch. He felt like scotch tonight. He would start on the cheap stuff once he was drunk.

There was the noise of a crowd in the background and an announcement over an intercom system. Evelyn cursed at her luggage before her message actually began. _"Hey Artie. You're probably busy with work or something. I'm in New York right now; I just got my luggage and I have to go catch the flight to D.C. Aw crap, I'm gonna be late! Bye Artie!"_

The message ended and a computerized voice prompted him to save or delete it before moving to the next. He deleted it setting his empty glass on the corner and recapping the scotch. The next message began.

Crowd noises similar to the previous message preceded this one. _"It's me again. I'm in D.C. and waiting for Jess to come pick me up. Thanks for the ticket again Artie. I'm not flying anything below business class again. Oh, here comes my ride. Later!"_

He deleted that message as well abandoning the alcohol to put the kettle on the stove for tea instead. He moved onto the last message.

"_Heya, me again. I'm home and I found my phone so I figured I'd give you a call so you'd have this number too. I can actually text using this one. Do you even know how to text? You should really get an e-mail address too. Anyways, I'm back safe and I guess it's getting pretty late over there so night Artie!"_

Arthur's finger hovered for a minute over the key to delete the message before saving it. He smiled at the air for a second before grumbling to Flying Mint Bunny at being called an old man once again. He turned back around only to see the fairies happily dancing around the edge of a tea cup they must have moved from the cupboard. The scotch and high ball glass were gone as well.

He continued to talk to Mint Bunny going on about how he actually did have an e-mail address, but it was only used for business. He didn't own an actual computer because Japan had taught him how to access it on his smart phone and why buy two devices when one would do the job?

He studied the new number displayed on his phone contemplating his next action.

"You're going to save it, right?" Min Bunny's chime like voice spoke up.

"Save it! Save it!" came the choruses of little voices as the fairies circled him and danced through the air

_Just in case_, he thought saving the new number under Evelyn's name. He fell into a peaceful sleep that night after watching TV with the fairies and Mint Bunny. Mint Bunny snuggled into Arthur's unused pillow proud of the former empire for not taking to the bottle in over a week.

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><p>AN:First off, oh my god! I have over a hundred reviews! (does happy dance) Cookies for everyone! The sad part is, I didn't even realize it until my beta pointed it out to me and then I was so excited I had to tell everyone. Y'all are just amazing!

Thank you to my beta. She helps keep Artie in character and expands scenes when I have trouble.

Has anyone read the story I'm co-writing with my beta Keep Calm and Carry a Nerf Gun? It has a spoiler for this story in it, but I think it's one people will like.

Reviews are loved!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. *Looks sadly at her college loans*

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><p>Evelyn's alarm went off too early the next morning. She briefly considered throwing the offensive object across the room to make it shut up, but she resisted the urge settling for hitting the snooze button and turning over to face the wall.<p>

She buried he nose in her musty bed spread; it would take more than one night to make it smelled used again. She stretched out debating if the blue comforter would fit in the washing machine or if she would have to take a trip to the laundry mat to clean it. Evelyn gave a slight start when white walls with boring scenery didn't fill her vision but band and movie posters on pale blue walls. She slid her feet out onto floor, or what would have been the floor if a pair of clothes hadn't been left there. Her eyes traveled the floor mapping out a semi-less hazardous path through the clothes and stacks of books.

As she made her way out of her room the mustiness of disuse and the normal smell of the apartment met her nose. She decided she liked Arthur's home more. The tea or fresh rain smell that permeated through Arthur's different rooms was comforting. Her apartment smelled…she sniffed, her nose she could never quite identify the smell, but it was better than when they cleaned; the harsh chemical smell from the cleaners made her want to gag.

She looked out of her room then back to her not overly plush bed. She moaned before turning to shuffle back to the bed only to stub her toe on cheap particle board furniture and fall back into bed with a grunt. She shut her eyes content to give up and go back to sleep.

Evelyn groaned when the alarm started going off again. She was jetlagged. She had spent so much time in London her body had adjusted to their time schedule and she hadn't been able to get to sleep last night until much too late. Why could her alarm clock not understand this simple fact? Evelyn retreated further under the blankets trying to block out the sunlight. Not only was she jetlagged, but she had an enormous headache that was teetering on the edge of a migraine. He throbbing toe wasn't helping any.

Life was just bloody perfect.

When had she started cursing like Arthur?

The American laughed softly to herself grimacing when the action aggravated her headache. She hadn't heard anything back from her new favorite Englishman, but it had been pretty late over there when she had left her last message and, knowing Arthur, he was aware of the time difference and would wait to call her back at a decent time…if he did at all.

At the time, she had been so excited to go home and see her friends again she hadn't been really paying attention to the Brit. Now that she thought back (difficult with such an annoying headache) he had seemed almost in a hurry to get her on the plane. It was strange because she had thought they were getting along well and he had done a lot that he didn't have to.

She sighed as she turned back over to silence her alarm once again. Maybe she was over thinking things. He still had to go work that day as well and she had nearly made them late by baking those cookies…and making a mess of the kitchen.

Giving up on sleep, especially since she had already finished the dream, Evelyn rolled out of bed immediately going for the aspirin. She had to see her professors today and she did not want to talk to them with a pounding headache. Especially since one of them gave her a headache.

"Morning sleepyhead!" Jessica chirruped happily handing her the cereal and milk.

"Since when are you a morning person?" Evelyn asked grumpily. She found her bowl was actually filled with some of Jessica's Special K. It's not that she minded the healthier cereal, she just preferred her childhood favorites like Fruit Loops or Fruity Pebbles. Either one of those sounded good, but she hadn't been here for some time so she couldn't really expect them to keep her favorites around. Maybe she should pick up some scones from the store…

From the couch, Nina said, "She's bragging about how she's up earlier than you for once." The dark-haired girl closed her textbook joining her two friends at the table. "How are your uncles?"

Evelyn stared at her uncomprehendingly for a minute before she remembered the lie she had told them. "Oh! My uncles…they're doing fine."

"What about your episodes?" Jess asked almost in a whisper. It had always been like that whenever her episodes were mentioned. It was like something taboo, a dirty secret that had to be kept from others.

Evelyn frowned eating another spoonful of cereal to buy her some time. Should she tell them her episodes were getting worse? She didn't want to worry them, but they were bound to find out sooner or later—especially when she had another one.

"I'm having more of them and I can remember them now," she replied bluntly.

"Really?!"

"What?!"

Evelyn recoiled slightly from the intensity of their reactions. The higher pitch reminded her of her headache. She rubbed her temple answering, "I have it under control." She stuffed more cereal into her mouth quickly moving to the sink. Swallowing, she continued, "Gotta go! Have to talk to my profs if I want to stay in school!"

She raced from the apartment making sure to grab her phone.

* * *

><p>Evelyn scanned the seemingly endless stacks searching for just the right books. Her professor had given her the chance to pass the class despite all the time and assignments she had missed—she only had to write one incredibly long research paper spanning the length of the Revolution and after concerning the relations between America and England.<p>

She should've never told him she had been in London.

The girl took down a thicker volume, the pages yellowed with age. Next to it was a newer text and she took that as well for comparison. Evelyn put both texts beside her laptop; Microsoft Word was already open and ready for her notes.

She flipped through the older text first copying down important points comparing with the information in the Powerpoint slides provided by her professor. By the time she had finished, it was late afternoon and she was yawning. She bought another coffee from the library's coffee shop and returned to her research.

The newer text had pictures. Evelyn scanned the chapters adding and deleting to her notes as she deemed necessary. Near the middle, filling the majority of the page was a portrait. The painting wasn't all that different from others she had seen: a man in the full military regalia of a British Regular. What _was_ different was that he looked so familiar.

Messy blonde hair did nothing to obscure bushy eyebrows, but the most striking feature still remained the brilliantly green eyes—it was Arthur.

Or at least someone who looked a lot like the grumpy Brit. Evelyn read the caption, her eyes widening in shock as she read it again and again. That was impossible; it had to be an ancestor…and Artie had really strong genes. Maybe she was just so tired she was seeing things, reading things that weren't there. The caption said the portrait was of an Arthur Kirkland, a major player during the Revolution and yet few records remain of him except in the most comprehensive of archives.

_Like the National Archives?_ Evelyn thought still studying the portrait. She took the much abused wallet out of her back pocket removing a flimsy piece of plastic from its interior.

It was Arthur's library card. He had given it to her to use while she had been in London, but she had forgotten to give it back before she left. She checked the back; the card had been issued by the government and granted access into any library in England—and America. That little bit of fine print had confused her when she first seen it (still did), but it could be advantageous now.

Evelyn flipped the card around between her fingers. The National Archives weren't all that far away and she could easily go tomorrow and do more research—for her paper of course—and if she just happened to find out more about this ancestor…where would be the harm?

* * *

><p>The next morning, Evelyn woke early from a restless night. The dreams had been particularly bad that night revolving around scenes of war; most of the time it was raining and she had been covered in mud and completely miserable.<p>

And yet there was still that sense that it wasn't _her_.

The American dressed quickly splashing her face with cold water to clear the previous night's visions and to help her wake up. She grasped the sides of the sink taking deep breaths and let the nightmares fade. Grabbing her things, she ran to the bus stop barely catching the bus that would take her to the Archives.

The National Archives was an imposing Neo-classical structure located on Pennsylvania Avenue near the J. Edgar Hoover building; across the way, along the National Mall, was the Natural History Museum where she had spent much of her time. She had often admired the building, but never had the chance to go in.

Apprehensively, she ascended the stairs to the main entrance gripping the strap of her bag. Inside, she approached the front desk admiring the almost lavish interior. The dark wood and gold leaf made her self-conscious; she felt underdressed in her jeans. Without realizing it, she started walking on her toes to keep as quiet as possible. The silence was almost suffocating. Halfway to the desk, her Converse squeaked against the tile floor and she visibly cringed trying to walk even quieter.

"May I help you?" a woman asked removing her glasses.

Evelyn shifted nervously. She wasn't doing anything wrong, so why did she feel like an errant child? It had to be the surroundings. "Er, yeah, I was wondering if I could look at your records concerning the American Revolution." She kept her voice barely above a whisper although the woman talked normally.

"Certainly. Do you have a researcher's card?"

The girl searched her bag placing a letter on official letterhead and the library card on the desk. "I have this."

The woman read over the letter which was written by Arthur giving her permission to use the card. Evelyn had found it stashed in-between the pages of the notebook she had borrowed from the Brit.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to see?" The woman had been polite before, but now her voice took on a new tone, one the girl couldn't place.

Evelyn hesitated. There was definitely something in particular she wanted to see, but it felt like prying, like she was looking into something personal and sticking her nose where it didn't belong. It was Arthur's secret and she should respect his privacy.

Then there was that other little voice in the back of her mind urging her on. It was the voice that always got her in trouble, but if she listened to it, she always found something new and exciting.

"I would like to see everything you have pertaining to the name Arthur Kirkland."

The woman read the note over again and examined the card. "Those records are in a restricted section. Follow me."

Evelyn accepted the card and note back stashing them in her bag as she followed the woman down into the lower levels of the archives; the girl was almost positive ordinary researchers had never seen the files she was about to see.

The woman led her into a room without any windows. Boxes were stacked high on either side of a small table illuminated by a singular light. Evelyn set her bag on the table, sneezing at the dust kicked up by the simple action, looking in some awe at the files.

"Please keep the files in order. I'll be back for you at closing if you aren't done sooner." The woman closed the door behind her leaving Evelyn among the boxes and papers.

This could be a more difficult task than she thought.

She opened the first box using the gloves provided in the room and began sorting through to find the papers concerning the Revolution. The musty smell from the old papers filled her sinuses and she had to stop often to clear them. Every sound she made echoed off the plain concrete walls, but she soon became absorbed in her work and the eerie environment no longer bothered her. As she searched, she scanned the files and her disbelief grew. It was just too much to take in. There were several mentions of the name Arthur Kirkland dating back through history alongside other familiar names—most notably Francis Bonnefoy and Matthew Williams.

What started as mere curiosity now turned into a minor obsession; a need to know about her temporary guardian and the other crazy people she had met. She spread the files out on the table and booted up her laptop.

Her mind worked furiously connecting the dots and unraveling the story. The more she found, the less she could believe it. She was finding names she knew; every single one a representative at the world meeting. It was impossible!

Wasn't it?

There was one name she didn't know though: Alfred Kirkland it said in the oldest files. Most of the material from the Revolution focused around him. There were letters, journals, photographs of portraits—his name was even on the Declaration of Independence!

_So, who are you Alfred Kirkland?_ Evelyn mused.

_Jones!_

Evelyn, who had been slouching in her seat, sat straight up nearly dropping the old letter she had been examining. There was no one else down here so how could she hear a voice, distinctly not her own, saying a name she had only briefly glimpsed?

It was even stranger because Alfred Kirkland had just disappeared. After the signing of the Declaration, the name Kirkland was no longer mentioned except in relation to Arthur. In fact, there was no real mention of any Alfred again until the signing of the Articles of Confederation, but it was an Alfred F. Jones who signed that historic document. From that moment on, the files focused on that Alfred with no mention of the other and there was still no birth or death dates.

She shook her head to clear it running one hand through her dirty blonde hair. She was just tired. She hadn't slept well since who-knows-when and now she was paying for it in the form of phantom voices.

The American checked her watch; it was almost closing time. Right on cue, the woman from earlier opened the door. She took one look at the mess and sighed.

"Um, is there any way I can get copies of some pictures?" Evelyn asked mildly embarrassed by the scattered files.

"You can leave an address and file numbers with me and copies will be delivered to you within a few days," explained the exasperated woman.

"Thanks!" The girl quickly scribbled down her address and the file numbers she wanted copies of.

The woman took the paper scanning it quickly before motioning for Evelyn to leave.

Evelyn did running over the day's research in her head.

* * *

><p>AN: An update before school starts. I had such a problem with this chapter, but thank you loads to my beta for helping me. She is amazing and y'all should check out Rebuilding with Ruined Walls.

Oh, and for all of you wondering what happened to those cookies Evelyn made…Arthur's brothers invaded and ate them before he got any. Poor Artie.

Reviews are loved!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Oh, and I'm not good at writing accents. This was about the best I could do.

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><p>Tobacco smoke. Arthur had kicked the habit long ago so there was only one person who would be smoking in his house—and that was only because it would piss him off.<p>

The blonde refrained from slamming his own front door and storming into the dining room to tell his brother off, instead he set his briefcase to the side and walked calmly to meet his elder sibling loosening his tie.

A redhead was sitting at the table with his boots up and a cigarette between his lips. He was looking at the ceiling acting for the entire world as if he didn't care, but the Englishman knew better. Scotland may be known for his brashness, but he also knew when to sit back and assess like now. William would wait for him to make the first move.

Arthur put on the kettle searching his cabinet for just the right tea: something calming, but wouldn't put him to sleep. He waited until the water boiled and his tea was brewing before he addressed the Scot.

"What do you want Will?"

William tapped the ash from his cigarette, smirking. "Funny, usually ye nag me first. Somethin' 'bou' feet on the table and smokin' in yer house? Jes' like a woman."

Bristling, Arthur retorted, "I'm not a woman! This isn't a pub. Now, put that damn cigarette out and put your feet on the floor!"

"See? No wonder the brats call ye mum," said the elder sibling, laughing. He still did what was asked though.

Arthur leveled a glare at him. "And who gave them the idea?"

William shrugged smiling. Arthur took a sip of his tea still glaring at his brother. They stayed like that for a few moments before the Scot sent him a look. Now generally he was quite good at reading his brothers' looks—living together and fighting each other for centuries tends to give people of an understanding of each other that makes verbal communication unnecessary—but the meaning of this one escaped him.

"_What_?" Arthur asked exasperated. "You're acting like Bran." He was used to the silent manipulation from Wales, but Scotland was usually more blunt.

"Quit yer mopin'." Ah, there was the William they all knew and loved. "So the lass left, at least she didn't declare war on ye. Hell, she's left ye how many messages?"

He decided to ignore the fact his brother somehow got hold of his phone. It actually wasn't that unusual of an occurrence. "I'm not moping," Arthur defended himself weakly.

William snorted. "Ye hardly get riled up anymore. Shite, not even _France_ can get a real reaction from ye. The fae say ye aren't drinking, which I'm not complainin' 'bou' 'cause I don' want to deal with another after-Revolution breakdown, but ye also haven't gone out to 'ave any fun either.

"Can't you just accept that I'm happy for once?"

"Happy? The wee lass left ye, quit hiding!" he slammed a fist on the table rising slightly, his temper starting to flare. He was the tallest of the British brothers, an inch taller than Ireland, and he often used his height to his advantage.

"I am happy! She texts me every day, she doesn't resent my existence, why can't you just accept I may have actually done this right for once!"

"Because she's not one of yer colonies! She's not one of us! I don't want your happiness to just stop one day when you realize you may never see her again! Humans die, Arthur!" He slumped from the ridged stance he had taken. "I jes' don't want to pick up the pieces again. I don't want ye hurt."

"That's why I sent her home!"

"So yer goin' to cut ties with her? Save yerself some heartbreak?"

"No, you git! I sent her home so she could stay human!"

William stopped retort dying on his tongue. "What? What did ye do? Mess around with magic again? I told ye a thousand times, magic can be unpre…"

"I wasn't playing with magic." Arthur deadpanned. Why did everyone blame him when something magical went wrong? Norway and Romania used magic just as much as him and no one ever blamed them.

"Then what the bleedin' 'ell are ye gettin' at?"

Arthur took a deep breath relaxing his tense shoulders. It wasn't often their fights didn't escalate to blows, so he always braced for it. William had too if his slight shift in stance was any indication.

"She has his memories, _Alfred's_ memories, and she has the nation aura. Only sometimes, but it's there." He told him about the American's episodes and, begrudgingly, how France had figured it out. "She was only getting worse the more she was around us. God William!" He put his head in his hands. "You and I both know how hard it is being a nation. If she stayed human, she wouldn't have to go through any of that, so I sent her home."

"Arthur," William sighed softly looking at the ground. "lad," he looked meeting his little brother's emerald jewels. "Pet, he's gone, and despite everything—faith, magic, love—he's not comin' back." William moved placing his hands on his younger smaller brother's shoulders.

Arthur blinked shaking his head furiously. "But, she knew things…" he stuttered. He hadn't realized the tears had started until his voice quivered.

William looked to the ceiling pulling his younger sibling close until Arthur's nose was smashed into his chest. "She called me Iggy." He muttered before breaking down completely.

"How did she ever end up with ye?" William asked rocking his sibling softly.

"Francis, damn froggy bastard brought her to me."

"I'll punch his face in, Auld Alliance or no." Arthur laughed, a strange hiccupping sound.

"Never did get what you saw in him." The words were muffled by his shirt, but William heard them anyway. Arthur was still clutching the fabric like a lifeline, but he was joking, so he was getting better.

Finally, Arthur pulled away wiping the tears from his face. "I know she's not Alfred, but she could still be a nation. I'm not the only one who felt it; the rest of the G8 did too. She tried to take on Russia."

"Ye sure ye're not mixing up nation and crazy? I mean a grown man talking to fairies is sure to attract all kinds of crazy." William smirked.

Arthur punched his arm. "Like you have room to talk!"

The Scot ruffled the younger's hair, which he hated, then leaned against the counter. "America hasn't had a nation personification since Alfred died. Why would one show up now?"

Arthur tried to flatten his hair out again (a losing battle, but he was too stubborn to give up even after all these years). Scowling he answered, "I've thought of that too. The fact is we don't know how a nation could die in the first place, not when their country and people are still strong. This has never happened before so what is to say she isn't?" He leaned against the opposite counter sipping at his tea.

William put an unlit cigarette in his mouth chewing on the end. "I don't know. Ye jes' can't become one o' us. Why has no one found the lass before?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to snort. "America is a big place. She's attending university in Washington D.C., but she's not from the east coast and, honestly, how often do we go anywhere in America besides New York or D.C.? It's surprising the snail-eating bastard found her at all."

Scotland ran a hand through his red locks. "Even if she could become a nation, what makes ye think ye can stop it? If the lass is goin' to be a nation, she will be one. We may not know how we're born little brother, but we do know we can't stop being what we are." William pushed off from the counter turning his back on his brother and making his way to the door. As he walked, he sent one last warning over his shoulder. "Ye've been hurt enough Arthur. Don't count on me to pick up the pieces again." He slammed the door as he left for good measure.

The Englishman stared into his teacup not even flinching at the loud slam. Was his brother right? No, he said himself none of them knew where they came from. He was doing the right thing damn it! He did not mess this up and he perfectly happy thank you very much. He finished his tea with a determined air setting to the task of washing the dishes as he sang softly to himself.

A few minutes later, his phone beeped alerting him to a text. The caller ID informed him it was from Evelyn. He smiled. See, there was no reason for William to worry. He hit '_Read_' and his smile disappeared.

_We need to talk._

Oh, bloody hell.

* * *

><p>AN: Yay! I finally got to introduce one of Arthur's brothers. I love the British Isle Brothers. They're amazing.

Man, school is keeping me so busy right now, but I wanted to get this typed up and posted for all of you awesome people. Seeing your reviews makes me ecstatically happy. Updates will be really erratic, but I promise I will finish this story. Auf Wiedersehen.

Reviews are loved!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did…well, that would mean I can actually draw.

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><p>Evelyn bent over the kitchen sink struggling to control her nausea. She had been getting steadily worse since she got back from London. She had a constant headache—sometimes so bad she had to lock herself in her room, black out the windows and hide under the covers—and now she was having bouts of nausea and dizziness. Her vision was getting worse too. Nina tried to show her a political cartoon the other day and commented on her squinting. Considering she never had vision problems before, Evelyn was adding it to her list of symptoms for whatever strange illness she caught.<p>

The wave passed and she went back to the dishes. It probably wasn't the best idea. Whatever had been in the red plastic wasn't helping her nausea. Evelyn wrinkled her nose and turned up the water hoping the higher pressure and heat would dislodge most of it before she had to touch it. No luck. She would have to soak it.

The doorknob of the front door jiggled. The American barely had time to register that neither of her room mates should be back yet when the door was flung open with excessive force.

"Have no fear, the awesome me is here to rock your totally un-awesome world!" The commotion was followed by a white haired, red-eyed horror to anyone with a headache. He was followed in by his minions; if this were Disney, they would be Pain and Panic, but since it wasn't, she could call them Dipshit One and Numbnuts Two. Evelyn cursed scrambling for something in the drawer by the sink. The three intruders came into the kitchen and she turned to face them armed and dangerous.

"I have pepper spray and an angry Englishman on speed dial!" she declared showing them the can of mace and her cell phone. She was not getting kidnapped again especially not by some damn Frenchman! Shame her once and she would learn, shame her twice and Arthur would have a Frenchman rug to put in front of his fire place.

"Woah, woah calm down shortie," Gilbert, still in the lead, held up his hands placating. "We're not here to cause any trouble." She held the canister of chemicals at the ready, not convinced.

"I am not your girlfriend so don't even go there!" Evelyn aimed the little canister at already red eyes.

"What? Where did you get an idea like that?" Gilbert exclaimed hands up to defend his eyes.

"What next? Going to call me your boo, or babe? Well, back off buck, I don't need a man. I am a strong, independent, working woman!"

Francis, who had been hit before with pepper spray (it was a slight misunderstanding with two young ladies that they blew completely out of proportion), spoke up from behind his friend while trying to ignore whatever gibberish the young American was sprouting. "_Oui, ma petit_. We were simply in the neighborhood and decided to stop by. Besides, what is _Angleterre_ going to do? He's still in his own country."

"But doesn't that mean he's closer to yours?" Antonio asked (un)helpfully. "And you're not there to stop him _amigo_." The man turned eyeballing the snack box on the table. "Is that a Twinkie? I've never seen a real one!" and he sprung for it.

Francis paled ignoring Antonio's oddness and started cursing in French. If there was one thing Evelyn learned from her time among the strange bunch, it was that the Frenchman was prone to theatrics and he didn't disappoint her now. He began lamenting in rapid-fire French (which she surprisingly understood though she had never taken a French class) and waving his hands dramatically as he walked around the small space. This brought him out from behind the protective shield that was Gilbert and into her range of fire.

Evelyn waited until he was facing her and then gave him a good dose of mace to the face.

"_Mon dieu_!" Francis quickly covered his eyes to protect them from any more of the offending spray rushing in the direction of the sink to wash it away. The smell coming from the red plastic container assaulted his nose and he reeled back gagging with another French curse.

"That was for kidnapping me before and all the perverted comments you stupid French fry!" Evelyn cried triumphantly still holding up the pepper spray.

Gilbert was doubled over laughing as was Antonio who was leaning on his friend's shoulder for support. "_Mein Gott_! You know how to hold a grudge _Kind_."

"_Si, si! Muy bien!_" Antonio cheered, Twinkie out of its packaging and being waved in a happy hand until he squished it.

"My nose! My eyes! How can the country of love appreciate all the lovely things in this world if I am blind?"

Evelyn sighed moving back to the sink as she pocketed her cell phone and set the mace to the side. The Frenchman was subdued, the Spanish man had a squished Twinkie to deal with and the German dude was laughing his ass off. She put soap into the plastic container and put it into the other sink to soak before dampening a paper towel and handing it to the distressed Francis. "Here drama queen. Now, get out of my house."

"So cruel _ma petit_." The Frenchman responded as he cleared his eyes.

Evelyn returned to the dishes wincing at the renewed pain in her head. "I'm not your little anything!" She snapped. "You're giving me a worse headache than I already had."

Antonio put an arm around her shoulders still recovering from his laughing fit. Thankfully it was the arm without the Twinkie. "I think she's been hanging around Arturo too much. She's starting to sound like him."

Gilbert slid in on her other side. "Kesesese! He's right. If you're not careful, you're gonna turn into a grouchy old man, er, woman."

The American's head throbbed painfully and her stomach reminded her she was still very nauseous. The two men towering over her was only making things worse; they were making her feel short and a little claustrophobic. She ducked backward away from them moving into the relatively free space of the living room.

"No, any sane person would just be pissed if three people invaded their house."

Francis finished cleaning out his eyes. "I think the more important issue here is your atrocious cooking skills. No wonder you survived with Arthur!"

"What're you talking about?" she asked confused.

He waved in the vague direction of the sink. "How can you eat that? It is unrecognizable."

"I don't eat it. That's why I was washing it out. I don't know how long it's been in the fridge."

They all stared at her.

"What?"

"What did it use to be?" Gilbert asked a little afraid of the answer.

Evelyn thought for a moment. "Can't remember. Some type of pasta maybe?"

Francis looped his arm with hers and dragged her determinedly to the door. Evelyn squawked indignantly.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Toni, grab her shoes; Gil, her jacket. We're going to the store."

She struggled against his hold and almost managed to break free, but her sock-covered feet slipped on the linoleum and the Frenchman continued to drag her.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?!"

"I can't let anyone live like this; deprived of good cuisine when I am able to provide! I will make you a meal that will not be forgotten in your refrigerator."

Evelyn grumbled some more, but she really couldn't turn down the promise of good food, especially when someone else was paying for it.

The trip was uneventful—if you don't count the fight that ensued when Antonio smeared Twinkie on Francis' pants—though the American had to endure the constant jabs about her lifestyle and American culture in general.

"I'm up to my ears in student loans. I'd like to see you cook your fancy French food on a student budget!" she retorted at one point.

Her comments were waved off and the grocery shopping continued. When they returned to Evelyn's apartment, they were laden down with ingredients. Francis immediately went to work in the kitchen while Evelyn flopped onto the couch, worn out. Gilbert was raiding the fridge for beer and Antonio was happily flipping through the television channels. He never stayed on one for longer than a few seconds.

She leaned back against the couch concentrating on her breathing to control her nausea and closed her eyes against the light to maybe help her headache. The constant noise from the trio definitely wasn't helping. What were they even doing here? They said they were in the neighborhood, but she hadn't gotten close enough to any of the three to warrant them just dropping by randomly.

Her mind wandered back to her research, to the photocopied documents hidden in her room so Nina or Jessica wouldn't accidentally run across it. They were mentioned in there several times, not so much Antonio, but the other two—especially around the time of the Revolution.

"Why are you here?" she asked quietly.

"Huh?" replied the Spaniard.

"Why are you here?" she said again loudly. Gilbert stopped complaining about the Americans' choice of beer and even Francis slowed in his cooking to listen. "I mean, why would you come out of your way to see me? I did nothing but insult you," she pointed to the Frenchman and then to the others, "and I hardly know you two!" She was sitting on the edge of the couch now working herself into a frenzy. "Ever since I met you people, it's been one weird thing after another and my episodes have only gotten worse! So, what is with you people?" She dropped her head into her hands breathing heavily and trying to will her headache away. Maybe she should go see a doctor. She had never been this sick before.

Gilbert sat down on the couch next to her drinking from his beer. "Like I said, we were in the neighborhood and decided to come check on you."

"_Si amiga_, the world meeting was much more fun with you there." Antonio added sitting on the table in front of her.

Evelyn sighed rubbing her temples. "That was only a one time deal. I'm still in school and I don't really see myself going into politics. Not that you guys actually got anything done…" The last she muttered quietly to herself, but they still heard it. Gilbert snorted into his drink while the other two chuckled. "Besides, I think the U.S. government has plenty of better candidates for a representative than me."

Francis brought over a plate with a variety of hors d'oeuvres and handed it to her. "Did you notice that there was not a representative for the U.S. at the meeting?"

She thought back and couldn't remember there being one. "Yeah, were they sick or something?"

"There hasn't been a real representative at our meetings for some time." He went back to cooking curious to how she would respond. He had not been oblivious to her more than obvious pain and illness, but he was waiting to see if there was something more to it.

Evelyn mulled that over biting into one of the snacks. She practically melted at how good it was. A small moan of pleasure escaped her lips and she finished that one off before going for another. Gilbert nabbed one off the plate before she could eat them all.

"Slow down, there's more coming!" Gilbert exclaimed.

"Sorry, but I haven't eaten anything this good in forever." She finished off another one nearly choking. She reached for Gilbert's beer to rinse it down, despite his protest. When she went to give it back, she doubled over in pain.

It felt like her head just exploded. She dropped the bottle to grip her head as she screamed out her agony. Soon she lost consciousness taken by an episode.

* * *

><p><em>She was sitting at a large oak table, legs swinging above the floor. She felt so small. There was someone sitting next to her—a blonde with purplish eyes peeking over what looked like a polar bear cub.<em>

"_What are you doing here frog?" a familiar voice asked. She looked to the doorway to see Arthur dressed in eighteenth century clothing fixing his cuffs and looking annoyed._

"_I have to make sure mon fils are eating well. They would starve with the way you cook." Francis stood in the kitchen rolling up his sleeves and preparing to cook._

"_My cooking is just fine! Alfred loves it, don't you poppet?" The Englishman came to stand beside her._

"_Yeah! I like Dad's cooking." Wait, that was like the voice from before—the one that was her, but not._

"_It's 'yes' Alfred." Arthur chided mildly._

"_Papa, may we have crepes?" asked the purple-eyed boy quietly._

_Francis patted the boy's head fondly. "Oui, Mathieu. With fresh berries and cream?"_

"_Oui!" 'Mathieu' exclaimed in his ever quiet voice. Mathieu was the French form of Matthew—did that mean this was Mattie? What was going on? Arthur had called her Alfred and it looked like a scene out of the past._

"_Here you are." Francis set a plate in front of her and she began eating. It tasted amazing, but the memory couldn't compare to the real thing. Those snacks she had were so much better._

"_Alfred Kirkland, don't stuff everything into your mouth like that."Arthur chided again._

"_Oui, mon petite. There is plenty more."_

_Alfred Kirkland. That was the name of the boy in those files, the one who just disappeared, but why was she seeing this? Was her research affecting her episodes? Maybe that's why she was also seeing Arthur and Francis in past clothing._

_That didn't seem right though. Something about all of this felt…real. But how? Evelyn wanted to scream she was so confused. This scene wasn't really like her other episodes either. It was too domestic, too relaxing and too happy. She was used to being afraid, angry or sad in the middle of some war-like scene that she couldn't escape. She felt like she was intruding on this scene; it wasn't right._

_Everything became fuzzy and then it was raining. She was standing on a hill, soaked and covered in mud. Someone was kneeling in front of her, sobbing. His blonde hair was plastered to his face hiding his eyes, but she could still recognize Arthur. He was wearing a familiar red coat—she had seen it so many times through school, there was no mistake—and a mud splattered musket lay not too far from him._

_What the hell? This didn't seem right at all. Arthur shouldn't be crying like that. She mentally recoiled._

* * *

><p>Evelyn jerked back to reality immediately screaming when she came face-to-face with Francis. She climbed the back of the couch as the Frenchman fell backward.<p>

"What the hell are you doing!?"

Francis stood brushing off and straightening his clothes before answering. "You were shaking. I was trying to make sure you were all right, but since you are impossible to wake up, I made sure you didn't hurt yourself further."

She blinked stupidly silently asking for clarification. Gilbert pointed to her arms. They were red where her nails dug into the flesh. She hadn't drawn blood, but it was starting to sting. That was weird; she hadn't hurt herself like that before.

Evelyn looked between Francis and Gilbert. They looked exactly like the portraits contained in the files from the Archives—Francis looked exactly like the one in her episode. So did Arthur. The only one who changed at all was Matthew and that was only because he grew. Wait, no one grows that slowly. Maybe they were all descendents of the people in those files? No, no one's genes were that strong and what were the odds they would all be in politics?

"Hey kid, you all right?" Gilbert asked concerned.

She didn't realize she had started hyperventilating rocking back-and-forth on the back of the couch. "What the hell is going on?" She was freaked out bordering on pissed. Something weird was going on and she wanted answers. The problem was, she was afraid to ask the questions. Stuff like this only happened in books or movies, not in real life, not to people like her.

Antonio cocked his head. "We're making sure you're okay. You had an episode."

Evelyn waved her hands around frantically as she started to panic. "No! I mean you," she pointed to Francis, "and you," she pointed her other hand at Gilbert, "and Artie and Mattie and everyone I met after you freakin' kidnapped me!" She jumped from the couch and started pacing still not able to string together a coherent thought. "It's impossible, but you're sitting here and I met all of you, but I'm not crazy because I know others can see you, but it certainly sounds crazy and I…"

"Slow down _ma petit_." Francis grabbed her by the shoulders to force her to stop. "_Je ne sais pas_ what you are talking about."

She tore away from him running into her room. Taking the bag out from under her bed where she hid it from her room mates, Evelyn hurried back into the living room throwing the files down on the table.

"_That_ is what I'm talking about."

The three quickly skimmed through the papers with varying emotions. Finally, the Frenchman looked her in the eye and said seriously, "Perhaps it is time you know."

* * *

><p>AN: Yes, I updated! Thank you to everyone who is still reading this. Real life is just so hectic right now, but all your reviews make me ecstatic!

Thanks also to my beta. She makes my Prussia even more awesome.

Reviews are loved!


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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><p>This was a bad idea. No, this was a <em>very<em> bad idea. Evelyn subconsciously wrung the strap of her messenger bag between white-knuckled fists as she bit her lip and looked over her shoulder constantly. She had the look of someone haunted just waiting for their nightmare to appear so they bolt reentering the game of cat and mouse that nightmares so treasured.

She had sent that text to Arthur in a moment of calm fury. How _dare_ he hide something _so_ big, _so_ unbelievable, _so_ life-changing from her? Her eyes narrowed and jaw tightened at the cold fury traveling through her veins. How dare _he_ treat her like some _child_ in need of protection? She, her, Evelyn Summers, was no child! She was a full-grown adult capable of making her own decisions and he should have respected her enough to tell her the truth.

But what was the truth? Her wrath subsided as the word truth fluttered though her mind.

If what she had been told was true, then to Arthur, she was just a child, but that didn't make what he had done right or fair. The feared temper women could be known for rekindled itself in Evelyn's heart. She was barely in her second decade: old enough to drink, old enough to drive, old enough to carry a gun in defense of her country, but what was that to Arthur? He was hundreds—hell, _thousands_—of years old. She paused, her rage once again subsiding at the odd thoughts. The concept was easy to wrap her mind around but once she started to think it became difficult to wrap her mind around.

She also felt a hint of guilt which her anger had hidden. If Arthur had told her the truth, would she have believed him? Most likely not. She didn't believe it now and she had the records to back it up! Which made Arthur's decision not to tell her actually a wise choice. He probably never thought she would borrow his library card in America and find the documents she had.

There was something she didn't understand which made her feel she was missing something though. Francis had done most of the talking, but when he got to a certain part, he trailed off and told her to talk to Arthur if she wanted the rest of it. Of course, at the time, with the fake sympathy smile he had given her she had wanted to strangle him. Then the one with the fascination with anything she had in the apartment gave a comment she should go visit Arthur. She had sent the text, the Idiot Friends Trio chipped in to pay for her ticket and then the doubt and panic started to set in. Top it with her whirlwind of anger and she was on an emotional rollercoaster that was wearing her out more than her headaches had.

Her thoughts grabbed onto the chance to blame someone other than the kind Englishman who had graciously let her stay with him in her time of need. What was the trio hiding from her? Why had they taken interest in her in the first place? Sure, the Frenchman was a pervert at times, but he didn't just randomly kidnap people. Or at least she hoped not. An image of a bunch of random girls taking shelter at Arthur's house made it to her sleep deprived brain, but he had seemed lonely. And her sleep addled mind decided lonely men didn't have random girls stay with them for weeks on end. It just didn't happen. They hired hookers for a night, or at least that was what she gathered from T.V. Wait! Did that make her some kind of escort? She shook her head. Sleep, she needed sleep. Arthur had more than helped her. What if he didn't want to see her anymore now that she knew? They were freaking immortals for God's sake! Well, sort of. They represented the land and people and she still didn't fully understand it. Her headache got worse the more Francis—or should she call him France now?—talked.

The point was, she was mortal and not an escort who needed to be given a chance to right the wrongs in her life, this wasn't some story where she could still talk to them and see them. No, this was the cruel crushes of reality where Arthur would cut off all contact. She would also be watched by the MI6 or the CIA or M.A.D.D. or something like that making sure she didn't tell anyone. She felt tears well up at the thought of losing the comforting Englishman she had unofficially adopted as family. It wasn't like she would tell anyone about them. She didn't want some psycho trying to hurt her kind-hearted Arthur. Not to mention she would also probably be put in a psychiatric ward because no one would believe her.

None of this bothered her on the plane ride thanks to some epically strong pain killers courtesy of Student Health. The poor business man she sat next to also gave her his little pillow. He had looked rather nervous; maybe he was worried she would cry on him all flight. She took one pill just before boarding and was dead asleep for the entire flight. The flight attendant had to wake her up once they landed at Heathrow and the panic hit her again full force. Arthur was supposed to meet her on the other side of customs, but she was seriously considering turning around and going home. _Sorry, there's been some mistake, I'm not supposed to be here, just let me back on the plane._ She highly doubted that would work.

Evelyn grabbed her bags under the wary scrutiny of a security guard. Her anxiety was drawing the wrong kind of attention. They probably thought she was going to start some kind of trouble. Or maybe they thought she was a terrorist? God, don't let them take her aside, her nerves couldn't handle it. It probably didn't help that, before she had left Arthur, she had had nightmares about being caught with contraband that someone shoved in her bag and being locked in some dark leaky cell where she wouldn't see the light of day until she was sixty. She needed to stop watching Lifetime movies. They were messing with her subconscious.

The customs officer gave her the same look taking longer to check her passport, his look intensifying when she shakily answered she was here for pleasure. She had the momentary fear that they would think she was an escort, but no one pays to send an escort across the Atlantic and she dismissed her crazy thoughts. Not to mention she knew neither she nor Arthur was going to enjoy this conversation. Her headache was coming back and the anxiety was making her nausea worse.

* * *

><p>Arthur stood outside customs just like he promised. He fidgeted constantly checking his watch, running a hand through his already wild hair, and tapping his foot on the terminal floor. For anyone who had seen this particular blonde waiting at the airport before, the hair mussing seemed to be some sort of coping mechanism for the man who seemed to have too many relatives from out of town. He glanced at those around him attempting to draw some calm from his people. They really weren't helping. They were generally excited, waiting for loved ones and friends; one child kept asking when her father was coming. The child's mother smiled responding, "Soon, soon." He straightened his shirt sleeve he had crinkled while checking his watch before he heard a gasping squeal. The little girl had charged from her mother's grasp into the safe arms of a handsome man who scooped her into his arms walking to the mother. The little girls babbling made him smile and gave his nerves the calm they so needed. It was a scene the nation had seen hundreds if not a thousand times and it renewed his love for his people every time.<p>

He sighed, he could wish on any star he chose that his reunion would be just as joyful, but centuries of life told him a message saying we need to talk wasn't going to have a happy ending. She knew he had lied to her about himself. It wasn't a flat out lie in some cases but a lie of omission which he knew from years of experience was worse. God help the idiots that told her when he got his hands on them. He would remind them just why he was the greatest empire in the world! Maybe he would tie them up and dangle them out the tallest building in the world or drop them into the deepest part of the ocean. Or maybe he could just hang them from the ceiling fan and watch them as they spun around. He looked at the ceiling smiling as he swung his arms and rocked on his heels at the pleasant thoughts.

"Artie?" A deathly voice croaked.

Arthur startled. He had been so lost in thought he had forgot what he was here for. He turned to look at the zombie like girl. She looked like hell. No wonder it took her a while to get through customs; they probably thought she was some crazy mass murderer of some sort with the crazy hair, dried rubbed off drool and the dark circles under her eyes. He had seen worse, but horror moves had him keeping a distance between the two of them. His nation normally survived the zombie outbreak, right?

"Hello Evelyn. I hope your flight went well?" He smiled awkwardly at the girl.

She nodded playing with the strap on her bag. "I slept the whole time."

Her voice was hoarse, she felt like shit and Arthur was fidgeting away from her! Well he better or she'd go all American Revolution on his ass. Lie to her…what a dick…what kind of nice guy lies to a cute girl like her to keep her at his house longer than necessary? That ass probably hid her passport too!

Arthur gave the poor girl funny looks as he walked a little closer to her to keep her bob and weave walk as normal as possible. As they walked out into the sunlight and away from the crowds she only looked worse. There were large bags under her eyes, her face was flushed probably from fever and she was having trouble breathing. Those weren't zombie symptoms, right? They didn't strike true in his mind otherwise he would send her to France.

The American stumbled once as they approached his car. Arthur caught her keeping her upright with a firm grip on her upper arm and gave her a pointed look. Evelyn smiled sheepishly and tried to wave him off. He had raised too many young nations, however, and didn't believe her, and none of them had turned into zombies.

He led her to the passenger side making sure she was settled before taking her bags and placing them in the trunk. Sliding into the driver's seat, he checked on the girl again. She was slumped in her seat with her eyes closed, not sleeping, and breathing heavily. Even more concerned, he left the airport parking lot and headed home. He was going to be in for a long night.

He tapped his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel glancing over every other minute or so to check on her. Evelyn's skin was covered in sweat and she started shivering about halfway to the house. It was moments like these he didn't miss horse drawn carriages, the cars being much faster and all. He reached into the back seat keeping his eyes firmly on the road as he pulled his coat forward and draped it over the poor girl.

Arthur pulled into his driveway; it wasn't the fastest time he had ever made it home, but it was up in the top ten list. It's not like he had been speeding by a lot, but he knew where all the cops were and this was an emergency! There was another familiar car in his driveway—a green mini-cooper with the Welsh dragon on the roof. Arthur groaned he did not want to deal with his ass of an older twin. His groan disturbed Evelyn causing the American to startle into a state of semi-alertness squinting out the front windshield.

"Artie? Whassit?" She was slurring her words now and grasping for the car handle. She was definitely sick, but why?

"It's nothing. Let's get you inside." He hurried to the passenger side as she tried to get the door open grumbling as she kept hitting her arm on the handle. As he pulled the door open he got an armful of American who had been leaning on the door. Arthur grabbed her arm and gently pulled her out helping to get her feet under her. She stumbled, leaning heavily on him. The front door opened before he got there.

"How'd ya get inside so quick Artie?" At least she didn't sound like a zombie offspring anymore.

Arthur's twin, Bran, also known as Wales, stood in the doorway watching them curiously. His green eyes twinkled in that shit-eating way only Arthur had ever seen. Not that anyone believed him when he pointed it out. Bran dulled his grin for a more pathetic head tilt looking like a wide eyed cat, asking in a sweet (false) innocent voice, "Why are you bringing home a sick hooker?" Damn, he was going to kill his twin.

"I'm not a hooker!" It was the most animated Evelyn had been since she landed in London, but it still wasn't anywhere close to her usual volume.

"An escort is still a hooker love."

"Bran, why are you here?" Arthur asked exasperated. They ignored Evelyn's protest that just because France paid for her ticket didn't make her a hooker; she wasn't here for anyone's pleasure!

His twin snorted. "You're so jittery, I was getting nervous. I just assumed you were bringing home a prostitute." His eyes were still wide and innocent.

The Englishman glared at him saying through clenched teeth. "I'm not a virgin, Bran." He felt his ears and checks warm up as he growled at his twin.

The Welshman shot forward covering the girl's ears. "Arthur! There are children present." With his face towards Arthur he dropped the innocent look for a coy got-you-now look.

"Just because I'm short," she began before trailing off to pick back up. "I'm twenty-one…" Evelyn answered.

"Oh, so she is legal!" He removed his hands from the side of her face flashing Arthur teeth in his Cheshire cat grin.

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Bran, she's sick. I need to get her inside." He shoved past his twin (Evelyn denying she was a hooker and a child and a child hooker at that) and lowered the American onto the couch. She automatically curled up hugging the pillow to her chest as she pillowed her head on the arm rest. Suddenly she sat up looking clearly at Arthur before a snarl crossed her mouth.

She pointed at Arthur, "I still need to talk to you," she declared already falling to sleep and slumping back onto the couch.

"I know love, but you need to get better first." Arthur whispered covering her with the throw from the back of the couch.

Arthur gave the sleeping girl a sweet smile before turning and glaring daggers at his twin who was making an "aww" face in the doorway. Arthur snarled, grabbing his twin and dragging the giggling Welshman to the kitchen.

"Who is she?" Wales asked bashing his eyelashes at his twin innocently. "The only other times you've been like this is when one of the kids was bad off." He dropped the innocent look to give his darling twin a worried look. He would always help family. He loved family…and torturing family.

"Her name is Evelyn Summers. She's.." He began.

"The one Franny was talking about? Lloegr, do you honestly believe—?" Bran looked at him. This twin psychic thing wasn't working today.

"I think you already know the answer to that. And when were you talking to the frog?" Arthur snapped.

Bran shrugged. "I wanted to know if you knew it. Also, I didn't. Scotland was. North was eavesdropping and told me. You shouldn't have banned him from the house, you know, he was sulking the entire time."

Arthur smiled to himself. Of course Patrick ran to Bran. He didn't want any of his brothers coming over when Evelyn was staying because he didn't want them traumatizing her for life. Well, anymore than France already had. Something was niggling at the back of his mind…

"Wales, did you bring anyone with you?" He left the kitchen before his brother had time to answer going back to check on Evelyn. A lanky strawberry blonde teen was standing over her looking confused. He looked up when the twins entered, celery green eyes staring accusingly at his elder brother and caretaker.

"Why is there a girl here?" Patrick asked not trying to be quiet. "Is this why you kicked me out? You didn't want me to see your girlfriend. Or is she a hooker? Oh man, you brought a hooker here! You kicked me out for a hooker!" The teenaged nation then proceeded to throw a hysterical fit. "I grew up here and so did all the others. This is supposed to be our family house; I played on that couch! Now, you're ruining it by bringing home hookers! How could you?"

"I think he's going a little overboard," said Bran from behind his unresponsive twin.

"She is not a prostitute," the Englishman finally hissed. He was getting rather tired of his family mistaking her for one. He was a gentleman; he didn't need to hire an escort.

Evelyn started to twitch in her sleep, muttering and whimpering as she was caught in a nightmare. North recoiled all too familiar with his own nightmares. The American started to toss muttering barely coherent words. Arthur tried to quiet her smoothing back her sweat soaked hair. Her fever was getting worse.

"Cymru." Wales handed him a bowl of water and a cloth. Both of them had been through similar situations enough to know what to do without directions.

"What's wrong with her?" Patrick asked quietly and with a hint of fear. Evelyn's troubled sleep was reminding him too much of his own for comfort and he was beginning to shake.

"I don't know, Paddy." Arthur answered half-truthfully.

Bran put an arm around the young Kirkland's shoulders hugging him close and giving comfort while leading him away. Arthur wiped the sweat from Evelyn's face then placed the newly dampened cloth on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, whimpering from pain. He rubbed circles into her hand, whispering to calm her.

Evelyn opened her eyes a crack. They were glazed over and flitted wildly. "I'm sorry Iggy. I didn't mean…" She coughed violently bending over the side of the couch to help clear her lungs. He helped her back up worry settling in his stomach like a thousand pound weight when he saw blood on her lips. Arthur wiped it away gently shushing her. "It hurts." She whimpered moving closer to the Brit's comforting touch.

"I know pet," he whispered stroking her hair. "Everything will be all right. Just rest now."

She nodded; only a slight downward movement of her chin, but still a nod then closed her eyes again.

Arthur continued to rub circles into her hand with his thumb relaxing some as her breathing evened out. He laid her hand down gently recovering her with the blanket and picking up the bowl and washcloth to refresh the water.

Then Evelyn screamed.

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><p>AN: I actually wanted to get this out over Thanksgiving break, but real life slapped me in the face. I made this one longer though to hopefully make up for the wait…then ended it with a cliff-hanger so that might negate it. I'll try to get the next chapter out faster.

To my anonymous reviewer, thank you for the corrections to my French! I would like to say though that I never said I knew the language. Hm, maybe I should put that in my disclaimer as well. I'm taking German and my beta knows Spanish so we're lacking in other language departments (she's also trying to learn Welsh which is a very pretty language if you ever get a chance to hear it).

Thank you for all my reviews and faves! Also to my beta Fallen-Snow (I think I've been misspelling her name for the last chapters; I'm so horrible _) who has been amazing with her content editing.

Reviews are loved!


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: So, I'm not dead, but I still don't own Hetalia.

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><p>Pain. Excruciating, agonizing, all-encompassing pain. Something was trying to tear its way out of her head, her heart. She was burning up from the inside out and then she would be freezing from the outside in all within seconds that felt like eternities. She couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but the mind-numbing pain. She tried to ask for someone—anyone!—to make it stop, but her body wouldn't obey.<p>

Finally, it all just stopped. Evelyn floated in the nothingness panting flames searing through her chest with every breath. Where was she? She remembered Arthur (two Arthurs?) and then nothing.

_Did I pass out?_

That's the obvious answer. People weren't supposed to feel pain when they were unconscious; that's how you knew you were dreaming and you always woke from a nightmare before you felt the pain. She tried to move and, just like before, her body refused to listen. Evelyn huffed wincing when it aggravated the pain…everywhere. Right, not a dream, so then what?

Evelyn gingerly turned her head from side to side wincing as the movement pulled at already overly strained muscles. Her search was useless however as there was nothing to be found except more darkness. She huffed again in annoyance. The pain was a little less this time, but still incredibly noticeable. She grumbled to herself becoming increasingly irritable as she remained stuck in the nowhereness.

Without warning a jumble of colors and sounds washed over her, overwhelming her. It soon resolved into images, scenes from the past…memories. They flew by too fast for her to recognize. Snatches of sounds assaulted her ears—millions of voices all speaking, laughing, crying, screaming at once—she was drowning in it.

Then she began to scream.

Evelyn curled in on herself, hands over her ears and eyes closed, trying to block it all out. It didn't help. The images and sounds kept coming. Streams of people flowed past in varying costumes. Their mouths moved, but the sound was whipped away and lost among the cacophony.

Finally, the color and sound swirled together into one scene. She was standing in a jungle. The foliage was heavy from a recent rain; steam was already rising from every surface and it was becoming unbearable. She felt absolutely exhausted. Her shoulders ached as if carrying a heavy pack. Blurred humanoid shapes moved around her going through the mundane motions of preparing a meal.

Everything came into sharp detail. The men around her were wearing Army uniforms; weapons and boxes of ammunition lay around them within easy reach. Many were already eating from pre-packaged meals—K-rations she thought they were called—laughing and joking as they ate.

"Hey Jones! If you don't hurry up we're dividing up your share," one of them called.

He was talking to her though it was impossible. She was never in the jungle. She ignored them too busy listening to the surroundings. Something was wrong…besides the obvious. This wasn't her memory. She was having an episode only more severe than usual. Something was wrong in this place, this moment. Things were about to go sideways.

"Hey Golden Boy, are you—" A bullet caught him in the temple and he fell, dead.

Chaos erupted. The men grabbed their weapons as more bullets whizzed past. They ducked behind trees trying to put any obstruction between them and the enemy. Evelyn ran from cover to cover, firing around the trunks in the general direction enemy shots were coming from. She couldn't see them, but they certainly knew where she was at. A stray bullet ripped the rifle from her hands. More gunfire prevented her from picking it up again. Cursing, she crawled toward a clump of bushes using her sidearm to continue covering her retreating men.

She didn't even know how many were still alive.

Sitting up, she fired off the last couple shots from her pistol. A gun barrel pressed into her back, hot metal burning through the thin fabric of her uniform. Something was shouted at her in broken English and then the person fired. The bullet ripped through her heart eliciting a short, pained gasp before she crumpled like a ragdoll.

The same darkness from before met her. Her chest was on fire and it was hard to breathe. She tried to look to see if there was a gaping hole like she expected. It was too painful to move.

_Shit that hurt._

Evelyn froze. There was that voice again. _Who are you?_ She thought. It was too painful to talk.

_Me? Who are_ you? _Why are you in my head? Holy shit! Are you an alien like Tony? That would be cool except I don't really think you should in my head. It might confuse people…you know if I started talking to you and stuff._

The girl hadn't been expecting a response. She stayed silent for several moments trying to process the rambling of the other. For some reason, it just ticked her off.

_Your head?! You're in my head and I'm not an alien! I'm Evelyn, Evelyn Summers. I'm an American college student who got kidnapped by a crazy Frenchman and is now mixed up with people who are countries and have a guy's voice inside my head. Yep, I'm officially crazy. Just have the nice men in white coats pick me up now._

_You must be crazy of some sort considering you just told a random stranger a lot about yourself. But don't worry I'm the good guy, I'm a hero!_

"Evelyn!" a voice screamed echoing in her head. "Evelyn Fucking Summers!"

_Artie_ the voice in Evelyn's head spoke. _Artie, I'm coming! _Blinding white pain tore though her head as her body jerked upwards in the real world.

"Bran, Bran, get the car! Patrick, have A&E meet us at…" Arthur's voice called out.

"Artie..." Evelyn felt her own voice groan. Even though the back of Evelyn's mind tingled with the knowledge that she hadn't given her body the command.  
>"Evelyn," Arthur appeared in her vision, green emeralds wide with panic and his hands frozen in uncertainty.<p>

"Artie," Evelyn's hand moved upwards towards Arthur's face touching his cheek. _I love you,_ the other voice said in her head. The image of the weird car ride in Arthur's lap and other moments flew into Evelyn's head before she slammed that door shut and labeled it mentally with the word _Sibling!_ in bold bright letters.

"Fuck no!" she screamed out pulling back from Arthur all together actually in control of her own body. _Possess someone else for your gay love fantasy. _Evelyn mentally screamed at the voice.

_Ewww dude he's like my bro… _The Voice responded almost like a child.

Arthur stared at her wide eyed, as Bran poked his head around the corner.

"I take it she's against hospitals then?" Bran questioned watching as Arthur slowly extended a hand back out to the girl who was now pulling at the hair on the top of her head.

"You can't say things like that!" she shouted suddenly.

"Patrick, don't make that call; get my magic book instead." Arthur called allowing his hand to touch the side of Evelyn's face and tilt it towards him.  
>"Make up your mind!" Patrick shouted from the other room.<p>

"I've got the circle," Bran called all too happily running through the room behind Arthur.

"Evelyn? Are you with me?" Arthur asked softly trying to make eye contact.

"I'm sorry Artie," she spoke looking down at the ground. Something about her voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His nose twitched as he tried to figure out what it could be before he shook it off focusing on the girl.

"It's not your fault dear." He said distractedly still trying to get her to look at him.

"But it was! If I hadn't invaded..." For a second he thought he saw blue before Evelyn's hazel orbs met his."I've never been off the freaking North American continent!" She screamed at him. Arthur cocked an eyebrow and moved back slightly from her.

"Shut up I'm trying to do something here." The girl looked back down as her hands curled in frustration.

"Bran!" Arthur cried out in alarm and panic over how quickly Evelyn appeared to be losing to the curse/demon/otherworldly thing taking over her body.

"Coming!" Bran all but sang. Arthur suspected he wasn't coming anytime soon though...

"Artie, listen you got to believe me," Evelyn reached out to him and, grabbing at his shirt, sky blue eyes met Arthur's causing his heart to freeze.

"Shut yer yap!" Water smelling heavily of salt, cloves and lavender was dumped on Evelyn's head soaking the girl and the couch.

"Shit, that burns." She bit out through gritted teeth as she accidently inhaled some of the concoction.

"Patrick, get Arthur out of here! Bran, you got that circle done?" A red head stood still holding the flask of water he had poured on the girl. He grabbed her under the arms strong arming her into the dining room where Bran had drawn the circle.

Evelyn struggled against him cursing and spitting the water from her mouth. "Who dumps salt water on someone? It's in my eyes! That stings. That's like cruel and inhumane punishment! Innocent until proven guilty, ever fucking heard of it!" The girl was red faced and flaying in William's arms.

"Holy shite Arthur, this is a strong one. Haven't seen anything with this strength since America," said Scotland dragging the flailing girl. He had his pride and would not be defeated by a bonnie lass.

"That's because I..." A ball of garlic was shoved into Evelyn's mouth. Scotland cocked an eyebrow looking to Wales.

"It's all we had." He shrugged. "I figured that much garlic would work on anything." he smiled all too happy with this whole situation.

Evelyn found herself back in control of her limbs and, more importantly, her mouth as she tried to roll/spit the garlic ball out of her mouth.

"Whoa whoa little hell spawn, no cursing here," Scotland spoke up at the fierce mumbling from the girl. She was a lot easier to hold now; maybe he should use garlic balls against hell spawns more often. Though, he didn't really remember seeing anything on it before.

"I thought we were supposed to be nice to girls," Patrick spoke from the corner as the redhead shoved her into the chair in the middle of the circle.  
>"Girls yes, hell spawns no." Bran spoke coming out of the kitchen with zip ties.<p>

"What about girl hell spawns?" Patrick asked as he titled his head curiously to the side. The other two brothers stopped moving cocking their heads identically to the side as they looked at the youngest.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Arthur?" Scotland questioned. In the space of time it took Patrick to ask his question, Evelyn had sucked up her courage and bitten down hard on the ball breaking off pieces enough to spit the ball out.

She wiggled like an eel in the tall man's arms managing to get a hold of his crimson bangs pulling and clawing at his face. "When I get through with you no girl will look twice at you!" she screamed.

"Let go!" Scotland barked trying to tug the girl off all the while not dropping her. Bran moved to save his eldest sibling, but took a foot to the stomach before water hit them all.

"Enough!" Arthur cried with all the power an ex-empire/single parent to a slew of children could muster while holding the sprayer from the sink.

"Artie, make him stop." Evelyn whined still yanking at Scotland's hair with all her might despite her pathetic take-pity-on-me voice.

"Release her." Arthur growled eyes turning acidic, but of course this was his brothers... Scotland dropped the girl straight to the ground sacrificing some of his hair and letting her fall on her rear. In a flash, Bran was throwing rock salt on her.

"Demons begone!" he shouted like he had seen in America's corny movies.

"I'll show you a demon!" Evelyn screamed going to her feet only to take water to the face.

"In the corner," Arthur called. Scotland snickered. "All of you." Bran turned to look at his twin only to get squirted in the face. "Now."

Evelyn stared at him incredulous. "You're punishing me? I'm the victim here!" her voice raised with her disbelief.

Arthur forced himself to meet her gaze. Her hazel eyes were now rimmed in brilliant blue and her eyes were watering—most likely from the garlic. He squirted her in face again.

"Move it!" He wasn't sure what was going on, but until he did, no one was receiving special treatment.

There was grumbling and threatening of leaving the union and Arthur settled for the table instead of the corners of the kitchen.

Evelyn used a tea towel to dry her hair as she mentally complained about the smell of the Scot's mixture.

_That's not as bad as the garlic. Dude, that was just nasty! Who does that to people?_

"So, this is the lass Franny was talking about?" Scotland said at the same time as the voice.

"Oh, shut up!" Evelyn snapped still absolutely pissed at the voice in her head and the way she had been treated. Scotland, who she learned was named William, leveled a glare at her. "Not you!" she gave him a wide eyed look before it hardened. "No, you I want to shut up and leave me the hell alone." Her eyes lit up in anger and she crossed her arms while tilting her head. "He doesn't have to be quiet. Gah!" The girl hit her head on the table and stayed there muttering angrily. Scotland scooted away. Female hell spawns…this was going to be bad.

"When did we start an asylum?" Bran asked poking at the top of her head. She slapped his hand away.

"It wasn't this bad before!" The American tried to defend herself. "And who the hell immediately jumps to demon possession? This isn't Supernatural." She glared at Bran. She was going to have this stuff in her hair forever.

"Of course it isn't." Bran moved one hand to his chest before giving her a patronizing look. "They get some things wrong; we don't." The Welshman finished entirely serious.

"So, did we get it?" Patrick asked all smiles and excitement. "The demon I mean."

Evelyn hit her head on the table again as William laughed. "Aye lad. It's a tricky business exorcising a woman. It could be the demon talking or the angry woman. And she-devils make it trickier." He didn't add his theory that the girl just might be a hell spawn and not actually possessed.

"Then how do you tell the difference between a girl hell spawn and a boy hell spawn?"

"Well laddy," Scotland began. "A girl has ti..." Arthur smacked him on the back of the head.

Evelyn raised her head just enough to give Patrick an are-you-serious look. "You were dropped on your head as a kid weren't you?"

This caused Scotland to only laugh harder doubling over when it became hard to breathe. Patrick opened his mouth to retort, but it was drowned out by the Voice.

_Everyone says I was, but I think I turned out fine._

"You call this fine?" Evelyn quipped. The boys looked at her wide eyed. They had been talking about how Arthur wouldn't let anyone hold Patrick for the first five weeks...

Patrick look confused. "I never said it was."

"I'm not talking to you!" she snarled at him causing his eyes to go wide.

"Then who are you talking to?!" Bran asked shit eating smile on his face.

"It! Him! The Voice! I don't know what to call it…"

"Male hell spawn." Patrick and William spoke nodding at each other even though the latter still had doubts about its gender.

Arthur slammed his hands on the table. "Enough!" All of this was starting to give him a pounding headache. "Okay, Evelyn, tell me what's going on." he rubbed his temple giving his brothers a shut up look.

She tried, but there was that feeling of losing control again and her mouth was saying words she didn't tell it to say.

"Dude, it's the weirdest thing ever. The last thing I remember is being in the jungle and I got shot and when I woke up, there was this girl…" her mouth spoke on its own.

She managed to wrest back control digging her nails into her palm to hopefully keep herself in control. "Artie, there's this voice—a guy's voice—and it, he?, seems to know you and I think all those things I keep seeing actually belong to hi—" Evelyn waved her hands frantically as she spoke.

"Hey, I was talking!" Voice fought back slamming Evelyn's hands on the table.

"Oh my God! It's my body so just shut the hell up and go away!" She looked to the Englishman pleading. "Artie!"

Arthur looked to his eldest brother and twin. Bran was subtlety inching away; Patrick wasn't being as discrete. Scotland, however, had lit a cigarette and was looking at her thoughtfully.

"Have you seen something like this before?" The younger brother asked.

"Not with nations. It certainly sounds like the brat though."

Evelyn slapped her hand on the table startling the others. "That's the other thing! I mean why I'm actually here. The Three Idioteeers told me how you're all representatives, but not like normal representatives; you're the nation itself, a personification. I found all this stuff in the archives—portraits, documents—there were pages taken from the journals of the Founding Fathers and you and Francis were mentioned along with some of the others, but there was one name (well, two) that popped up more than any other: Alfred."

Arthur sucked in a breath. He looked about ready to bolt. The others tensed up as well. The presence now sharing her mind seemed to flinch guiltily. She had hit a sore spot.

She continued anyway. "The early records have his name as Alfred Kirkland, but after the Revolution, he shows up as—"

"Alfred Franklin Jones."

She recognized that tone. That was the you're-in-trouble tone only parents used. The Voice recognized it too. She could feel it retreating further back in her mind.

"Alfred Franklin Jones, if that's you, answer me right this fucking second!" Arthur was standing again hands and feet firmly planted leveling a stare at her that promised all sorts of unpleasant things if he received the wrong answer.

Evelyn shoved the voice forward. She was not getting yelled at for him. This Arthur reminded her too much of the one she had seen in the attic and that one nearly killed her with an antique sword.

"Hey Artie. Long time, no see." Her hand waved half-heartedly.

Arthur sank back into his seat visibly shaken. "How? You were dead."

"But I'm not dead. I'm right here!" His hands smacked his chest... her boobs and she growled at him mentally. "Sort of…" He paused, his hand jumping away, thinking. "Look, I don't know how it happened. I'm sorry, Artie. I should've never gone." Blue eyes pleaded with him.

Arthur took a deep breath running a hand through his hair and down his face. He didn't say anything, but turned on his heel and, with his shoulders too impossibly stiff, walked away.

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><p>AN: You don't know how many times I scrapped and rewrote this chapter and I'm still not happy with it. My awesome beta FallenSnow helped me write this one (the exorcism scene was entirely her; neither one of us knows why Bran is such a shit though).

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, faved, followed, etc. Your encouragement keeps me writing. I do plan on finishing this story. It just might take me a while with school and everything. Please be patient with me and I promise to keep writing. Danke!

Reviews are loved and make me insanely happy!


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Evelyn, however, is mine.

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><p>"Artie, wait!" Evelyn scrambled to her feet attempting to go after the retreating Brit, but William was there before she could get far. He pushed her back into the seat with two firm hands on her shoulders. Voice took offense and pushed its way to the front.<p>

"What the hell Scot?! I need to—" Voice began.

"Ye need to calm down. Runnin' after him now will only end badly." Scotland shared a look with Wales who nodded and left the room. He sent a slightly different look to Patrick. The teenager looked like was about to say something, but thought better of it and slinked out of the room pouting all the way. William shook his head. No doubt the boy was eavesdropping through the door, but he didn't have the inclination to run him completely out of the house. Arthur would rip off his head with his bare hands for his baby.

Voice watched nervously as they left. He knew (and how strange was it Evelyn now had thoughts other than her own?) Scotland could be violent whenever his brothers were hurt, but the brothers' presence kept the redhead mostly in check. Now they were alone. "Sending the witnesses away so you can beat on me?" Voice snarked trying to appear more confident than he actually was at the moment.

William gave a snarl and smirked. "I don't make a habit of beating up girls." He gave her an up-down look. "I thought we'd have a chat." The smirk turned sly as he lit another cigarette, the first long dissolved to ash.

"I need to talk to Artie! He thought I was dead! How could he think that? I've been shot before and been out for a while, but I can't die. I'm the United States of America for crying out loud!" Voice flung her arms out in emphasis growling at the man in her path.

The redhead blew smoke in her face causing her to choke. "The United States of Royal Fuck-ups is what ye are and he doesn't need you jabbering at him when ye don't understand anything!" Despite the emphasis in his voice, William wasn't yelling...yet.

"Why are you sending them after him then?" Voice whined/challenged still blinking away tears from the bitter tobacco smoke with soft coughs.

William sent him a withering glare. "You have caused my wee brother enough pain so now you're going to sit there and let his family help him like we have every time before. Now, I want to talk to the lass."

"I'm family too!" he slammed his/her hands into the table hard enough to sting.

"You gave that up! Give me the girl!"

"You say that, but too bad," the person in her head snarled. "I'm not going to sit here and let you yell at me or whatever while Artie's in the other room. I have something to say to him!"

Scotland slammed his fist on the table patience shot "Get your head out of your arse! If ye haven't noticed, ye're not you. Ye're in the body of a girl; a girl who has no damn clue about us. Ye're not just fuckin' up your own life anymore!" he yelled.

The two stared at each other daring the other to continue the fight. Evelyn felt when something shifted in Voice's thoughts. He wasn't being a hero. He was being selfish, but damn it all! He just...he had to talk to Arthur. Her shoulders slumped as Voice admitted defeat.

"Let me talk to her." Scotland demanded again with his voice back to calm fury. His cigarette dropped ash onto the table. _Arthur's gonna be pissed_, Evelyn thought absently.

Voice retreated grumbling though sufficiently cowed by the Scot. Evelyn subconsciously hunched under the redhead's gaze gripping the side of her chair until her knuckles turned white. She shook as her thoughts raced. What the hell was going on? They knew the Voice, they were talking to it...the others—Francis, Gilbert and Antonio—they told her to come talk to Arthur, but they couldn't have know about this. Voice hadn't come out yet, so there was no way for them... Or did they know? They hadn't told her everything; they had been hiding something from her. It could have been Voice! Why didn't they tell her? Hell, why didn't Artie tell her anything? Her knuckles tightened at the thought of the man who had for all intents and purposes fled the room. Did they all get some sort of sick joy from watching her panic, watching her run around trying to figure things out? Maybe they all had bets going to see how long it could last. She remembered what the gods in Olympus had done. Maybe she was these immortals play thing.

She snarled and Voice brushed her mentally. Somehow she actually found comfort in it for a second allowing her to see Arthur's kindness...she needed help, someone to listen. She needed a fucking straight answer.

"Who are you people?" She grit out between clenched teeth. She was still shaking every muscle tensed, unable to unclench her fists from around her seat. "The other three...they told me all of you are immortal. That's impossible. Right, _right?_" Her voice rose a few octaves on the last word desperately wanting him to tell her this was all a dream or some sort of horrible joke at the very least. It wasn't funny. She wasn't laughing. Well, she was a little, but that was bordering on hysteria.

"No we can die, but in human terms we are immortal." He looked at her with a cigarette clamped between his lips as a frown marred his face. He looked at her like she was a rather uninteresting insect in a case.

Evelyn launched herself from her chair finally giving vent to the pent-up adrenaline. She waved her arms around in a frantic manner as she paced in front of Scotland. "That's not an answer, dipshit!" She snarled at him. "I want someone for once to just explain what's going on in my messed up life!" Tears of frustration pricked the corners of her eyes threatening to fall.

Scotland watched her flicking his cigarette butte into an abandoned tea cup. He lit another one almost immediately. "We represent the land and the people on it. One of the others will probably have some fancy term for it, but I don't care to remember it. We are the nation and we can't die until that nation doesn't exist anymore. That means the brat shouldn't have died, but he did and there have been a whole lot of us trying to figure out how."

Evelyn continued to pace running her fingers through her hair and biting her lip nervously. "I don't get it. What does that mean, 'nations'? The others tried to explain it, but I still don't get it. How can there be someone representing all that? All that history-the wars, natural disasters and just all of it! It's unbelievable. It would drive someone insane."

The redhead burst into laughter. "Who says we're not? Ye're not the only one to think that. Our governments know about us. The monarchs grew up knowing about our existence, but since the governments started switching to democracies, we have to explain it to someone every few years or so." He smirked as he remembered some of the interesting ways his family had greeted new Prime Ministers. Some of them had tried to have the brothers thrown into mental homes, but that was a story for another day.

Evelyn fidgeted. She could feel that other presence in the back of her mind listening intently. It felt like a major invasion of privacy, a violation of her rights and...and...

_Hey, you can't use that against me! I invented individual rights._

"Oh, just shut up!" the girl cried. She was American despite what Voice was bitching about and her rights fucking came first right now! William glared at her again. She waved her hands in front of her face as if to dispel it. "Not you. It! No, on second thought, you shut up too. Unless you're going to give me a straight answer, just stop talking." She paced a few more times before giving up and practically falling back into her chair hitting her head on the table. After a few moments, she lifted her head again meeting the Scot's _are-you-done?_ expression. Sighing, she continued a little calmer, almost resigned. "Let's just say, _for the moment_, that I believe you. What does this have to do with me?"

He snuffed out his cigarette and leaned back crossing his arms. "That brat in your head is the personification of America. He was shot through the heart during a war in the seventies. I've had it happen to me before, only with a sword not a bullet, and while it hurts worse than hell, it's not fatal for us though it might put us in a coma for a bit. When he didn't, we started thinking he was really dead and we started looking for a new personification. Every country has one, no exception and since the country was still there..." he shrugged letting her draw the obvious conclusion. There was only one problem with that.

"So, where is he? I went to that meeting with Artie and there wasn't anyone representing America there. The French fry said there hasn't been one in years."

"Noticed that did you? That's because one hasn't shown up in all those years. That's where you come in."

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><p>Arthur stared out the window of his study completely lost in his own world. He held the letter Alfred's superior had sent after he had been shot. The normal ranks of the military didn't know about them. For all the man knew, Alfred was just another soldier who had died in the line of duty and he was informing the family. The git had always put him as next of kin since the First World War. He had gotten a few letters like the one in his hands over the years although most had just reported him injured. He hadn't given this one much thought. Originally, he had thought he had thrown it away. He thought the idiot would be at his door within a matter of days whining about the Communist threat.<p>

He never came. The bastard never came. Arthur crumpled the paper in a tight fist throwing it to the side.

"So, are we going through the stages of grief again?" Bran sat at his twin's desk casually rifling through the papers there. "If so, I think you're almost to the drink-yourself-into-a-drunken-stupor bit. Oh look, here's the rum." He pulled out the decanter from the bottom drawer. "None for you Paddy, you're too young." Bran's nonchalant tone was making Arthur grit his teeth.

"Is it bad to make girl hell spawn cry? Because I think she's about to." Patrick had his ear pressed against the door trying to hear all the conversation. But his voice was completely serious. Someone was going to have to have a serious talk with the poor boy one day.

Bran shook his head. "Lad, what have I told you about eavesdropping?" Bran gave him a stern look that didn't reach his eyes. "Listen at the cracks in the door. They're not as soundproof." He poured a glass of the caramel-colored liquid holding it up for his twin. Arthur ignored him. "No? Suit yourself." He took a sip. He idly tapped the fingers of his free hand on the desk waiting for the break down.

Arthur wrung his hands and twisted his fingers. In days of old, he would have twisted rings, but without them, it left him pulling at his fingers. At least he wasn't pulling his hair out.

There was a gasping sound like someone couldn't get enough air, almost a hiccup in a breath, and Arthur was on his knees on the floor hands pulling frantically at his hair as he curled in on himself. Pained gasping sounds came from him as he attempted to hold back his sobs.

Bran flashed a look at Patrick who sighed and bitched about being run out of yet another room of the house he had grown up in.

Bran slid from the chair to the floor. Sudden movement would send Arthur into a frenzy that would result in Bran's bloodshed.

Arthur gave a loud gasping cry as his hunched figure fell until his forehead reached the floor. His hands pulled frantically at his hair in his grief.

Bran moved going to all fours and moving slowly towards Arthur.

Arthur slammed his head into the floor a few times his tears and gasping breaths muffled with his sounds of agony.

Bran moved hesitantly folding his legs under his body so he was squatting before tentatively wrapping an arm over Arthur's back and shoulders. If Arthur responded negatively he could spring away and make it out of this with some bruises instead of broken bones.

Arthur's breath hitched and livid green eyes met his as Arthur snarled at him. Bran froze pulling his arm back, but not moving from his brother. They started at each other for a moment before Arthur's hiccupping snivels returned. In a flash, Bran was on his ass with his twin trying to get into his lap. Arthur's tears and snot were on his shirt and Bran had a momentary thought to just shove the other off. He was tired of all of this shit. He was tired of Arthur tearing himself apart over a boy that didn't want him.

He shoved those thoughts away. Arthur needed him now. He could be a bitch about this later. Bran let himself fall back all the way so he was lying on the floor. Arthur now lay on top of him hands fisted in his shirt.

"Oh little brawd," he cooed. "Why are you crying? He's in the other room." He ran his hands through Arthur's hair.

"He's dead!" Arthur screamed suddenly fist connecting with the flooring dangerously close to Bran's ribs. _New approach_, Bran thought trying to school his features and heart not to show the fear racing through his veins.

"Arthur," Bran cooed as much for Arthur as for his own control. "Explain to me then, tell me," he tried without uttering the possibly fatal "what is wrong." Those words had almost gotten Alba's head removed from his shoulders back during the American Revolution.

"He's dead," Arthur repeated tightening his hold on Bran's shirt. "I accepted it."

"You're acting like you rejected it," Bran muttered into his brother's hair. He hadn't meant to say that and the crown of Arthur's head met Bran's nose. He gasped as Arthur followed though in the attack by straddling his brother and slamming his open palm hands into Bran's chest causing him to cry out instead of just gasping.

"Why do you mock me?!" Arthur screamed hands rolling into fists as Bran's eyes went wide and his face went pale.

"Arthur!" he cried out trying to reach through his brother's rage.

"What makes you think—" Arthur leaned down so their noses were almost touching.

"I love you!" Bran called out. "I love you and you threw it back in my face for that brat." Arthur's heated glare paused and his face relaxed in confusion trying to comprehend.

"I love you," Bran whimpered again. "Paddy loves you, William loves you, hell that hooker at least cares for you, but you threw us away for that brat." Bran was screaming from under Arthur now tears freely flowing down his face. "Why can't you see that?" He sniffled searching Arthur's eyes for an answer.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. His hand moved wiping the blood from Bran's nose. "I'm sorry. It just hurts," Arthur whispered tears welling up again.

"I know you hurt, because I hurt too." Bran's hand came up and cupped Arthur's face. He smiled at his younger twin. Arthur sighed and let his body rest on Bran tucking his nose into the hollow of his throat.

"I love you too," Arthur whispered as Bran's arms wrapped around him. He fisted his hands in his brother's shirt and neither twin moved.

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><p>Evelyn gaped at him. "What? Oh right, he's in my head so just magic him out and then you can all leave me the fuck alone."<p>

"You know for someone who doesn't believe, ye're making a whole lot of assumptions all of a sudden." William reached for another cigarette frowning when he discovered the package empty. Damn, so much for secretly quitting. Now he was going to have to start all over.

"You were the one leading a frickin' exorcism a few minutes ago. You obviously believe in all this voodoo, magic crap and if it will help me, I'm willing to believe in it. At least for a while." She added the last part for her own sanity. After this was all said and done, she didn't know what she would believe anymore.

"What we do is not some backwoods, kitschy theatrics for tourists. I don't need some doll to turn your insides inside-out." He grumbled about stupid teenagers and American teenagers especially. "Magic can do a lot of things, but we don't know how the brat got into your head so we can't just get him out. And from what everyone else is saying, he's not the reason you're involved in this. Nations can feel when another one of us is nearby. It's like an aura we're all attuned to. You've been emitting it off and on for some time."

There was silence in the room then Evelyn burst out laughing. "Good one!"

"I'm not joking lass." William practically growled. This girl had gotten away with a lot so far, but his patience was wearing thin.

"No, see you have to be because there have been tons of things that happened since I've been born and, by your own definition, I should've been like in pain or something during those times right? Well I haven't been so I can't be...like one of you. It has to be this Voice in my head. That's why. Yep, yeah. Totally it." She gave him an almost desperate half-smile begging him to agree with her.

"No, not it. The brat didn't have any sort of control until today. None of us entirely understand how it works. We don't remember how we were born. The land decided it needed a representation and it chose you. Now you have to deal with it." William stood going into the kitchen to get something to help his nerves since he couldn't smoke. Maybe he could send Patrick out to get him some. Was he legal now? He couldn't remember...

Evelyn sat in a daze. Voice tried to push his way to the front again, but Evelyn pushed back putting her entire will against it. It was her body, her mind. She was just having a slight mental break was all. It was college. She just got overloaded with work and when the crazies came along, she went with it because it was fun, a nice break. Now they were trying to tell her...tell her what? Some kind of chosen one shit? Join our venerable ranks and ruin your life? Nope, not going to happen. She didn't have to follow the crazies anymore. The only reason she came was because she thought she could trust Arthur, but Arthur ran when she needed his help most. Screw this. Screw all of it!

"No, I don't have to deal with it." She said suddenly sounding rather sure of herself.

William turned around unsure he had heard her right. The girl was gone and the front door slammed shut. Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

Patrick came into the kitchen then. "So now that she's gone, does that mean I can come back home?" Scotland cocked an eyebrow at him.

"If ye raid Arthur's smokes for me sure."

"Awesome!" Patrick smiled like shit didn't just hit the fan and disappeared. Scotland rubbed his forehead worrying about the boy being dropped on his head again.

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><p>AN: Whew! What is the genre of this story again? So much angst...

Anyway, a big thank you again to my amazing beta Fall in Snow (right spelling this time) who keeps my characters in character even when they're falling apart. Also thank you everyone for your reviews/faves/follows/etc. If it weren't for you, this story would've failed a long time ago.

One last thing and I swear I'm done with this author's note. Anyone going to Anime St. Louis this weekend? I'll be there dressed as Pirate!England. I'll probably have someone from Mass Effect walking around with me as well so if you're a fan of both series, come over and say hello. Or just come say hi anyways.

Reviews are loved! Later!


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Almost forgot to put it...

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><p>Evelyn moved down the street her feet dragging through puddles of rain. <em>I guess this is my fault too,<em> she mused as the rain continued to fall.

_Yes ma'am, all your fault. Who dares nature by saying things can't get worse?_ Voice chimed in on her mental conversation. She felt hesitation from him before he spoke. He had done that several times now almost as if he didn't know how to address her. She threaded her fingers through her hair stopping in the rain. Who was she kidding? She was lost in London! She had no wallet, no passport, she didn't even have a shitty hotel room to return to.

_Ma'am, your little telephone's still working._ Voice said hesitantly trying to be helpful. Though, with her luck, the phone was going to short circuit from all the rain...not that it had much of a charge anyway.

Yep, life sucked. She just wanted to go home!

_Oh, turn left here! There's a good place to eat down that way._ _I loved it. A nice woman owned the place; it was like having a home cooked meal away from home. _Voice directed.

_What about no wallet don't you get?_ She mentally snapped at Voice._ Now shut up!_ She huffed at him irritably ducking under an awning to get some relief from the rain.

She could feel the mental presence pouting. _You don't have to be so mean about it. I'm just trying to help._

_I don't take directions from a voice in my head._

_Ha, I'm not just a voice. I'm Alfred F. Jones!_ She could see him posing in her mind's eye like some overgrown kid.

_No, you don't exist. I don't name things that don't exist._ Evelyn sneezed ruining the annoyed angry aura she was trying to send Voice's way.

_Does calling me "Voice" count as a name?_

Evelyn didn't dignify that with a response.

"Well, aren't you a sight?"

The American sneezed again turning to face the owner of the voice. It was an older woman, hair completely gray and tied back in a bun. She had a shawl covering her shoulders to protect against the chill from the rain. Evelyn wiped the water from her face with her sleeve. Since her jacket was already soaked, it didn't do much good.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I'll move in a minute."

The woman shook her head. "No, no dearie. You are going to come inside and warm up."

Evelyn read the sign hanging in the window. She was standing in front of a tea shop; small cloth covered tables were visible through the glass while a display case in the back had a selection of pastries for sale. They looked delicious and her stomach growled loud enough for the elder woman to hear. The girl blushed wrapping her arms around her middle.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any money. I don't want to bother you."

"I didn't ask for money poppet. Now just come inside and we'll get you something warm to drink." She took the reluctant girl's arm leading her inside. Evelyn didn't even have enough energy left to fight back and Voice's cheers about free food weren't helping.

The woman pointed to a table near the display case before shuffling behind it. She filled a kettle with water and put it on a burner. Then, she placed several cookies on a plate and set it in front of Evelyn.

"The tea will be ready in a moment. Go ahead and eat a biscuit or two while we wait." She went back behind the counter taking down cups and saucers.

Evelyn fidgeted awkwardly rubbing her palms against her jeans and biting her lip. Voice urged her to take a cookie, but Evelyn resisted. Kindness from random strangers always came with a price—hadn't she just learned that the hard way? She glanced toward the door contemplating running. This was so stupid. She shouldn't have run from the house like that…at least, not without her wallet. How did she keep getting into these situations?

"It won't bite dear," the old woman said as she placed a steaming cup of tea in front of the girl.

Evelyn jumped. "What?"

The woman smiled. "I pride myself on my baking. If you don't try one, I would be insulted."

The American quickly picked one without really looking and took a bite. Still warm chocolate melted on her tongue as it mixed with the taste of vanilla and brown sugar. It wasn't as sweet as ones she had back in the States, but it was exactly what she needed. Evelyn finished off the first cookie and reached for another: a ginger snap this time.

"And I was worried you wouldn't like them," the woman chuckled taking a sip of tea.

Evelyn blushed again nibbling at the cinnamon sugared cookie. Now self-conscious, she laid the cookie on her saucer and tried the tea. She wasn't a huge fan of hot tea, but she didn't completely hate it either.

_I wish she had coffee…_ Voice complained.

_She probably does, but I'm not going to be rude and ask,_ Evelyn retorted somewhat harshly. As far as she was concerned, it was Voice that was ruining her life. If not for it, Arthur wouldn't have fled, she wouldn't be wandering London and her life wouldn't be this screwed up.

Whatever made this woman take pity on her, she was at least glad for the cookies. "Thank you," the girl rasped out.

The woman readjusted her shawl. "You're quite welcome. Everyone needs a bit of comfort now and then and you seemed to need a good bit."

They continued in silence watching the rain fall outside. Evelyn didn't realize when she finished her tea or when she ate the last cookie. She reached for another only to be surprised when her fingers touched empty ceramic.

The elder chuckled. "More tea dear?"

Evelyn shook her head withdrawing her hand. "No, thank you."

_Ask for coffee. I haven't had coffee in years._

_You were dead for years,_ she deadpanned.

_Ha! So you admit I exist. You can't be dead unless you exist,_ he replied smugly.

_No, now shut up._

Voice continued to complain, but she ignored him turning her attention back to the old woman who was watching curiously.

"Ah…sorry, I've just been…preoccupied lately." She rubbed her palms against her jeans again.

The woman nodded knowingly sipping at her tea. At some point, she had poured herself another cup. "Is there someone you can call love? I wouldn't fancy walking out in this weather especially without a decent coat and umbrella."

Evelyn gave her a sour look. "No one I want to talk to right now."

The woman just smiled. "Take it from the old and wise dearie, no matter what argument you have with those you care for, don't let it stew for long. Plenty of good relationships have been ruined that way."

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><p>Arthur slammed on the breaks of his car with unnecessary force as a triad of words that would make the queen backhand him spewed from his lips. His lip curled back in a snarl as his knuckles turned white with the force on the wheel. This girl was going to be the death of him. Maybe not physically, but if that blood pressure shit Portugal kept making him read was to be believed it was going to be of a heart attack.<p>

His eyes unfocused from the road, and the bumper to bumper traffic he was in, to momentarily watch his windshield wipers go as fast as the little motor that powered them could across his window. He took a deep breath and tried to count his blessings or whatever bullshit the last stress pamphlet Portugal had shoved under his nose said.

1. The girl was admitting a nation aura, so he could find her.

2. He wasn't searching for her on horseback. In this rain, that would suck.

3. …

He tried, he really did, but no three came to mind as someone honked their horn behind him like the presence of their horn would make all the cars magically move. Speaking of moving, why did she run? He paused mentally at that thought. The better question was why hadn't she run earlier? Who stays to actually hear out the crazies? _A Hero_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He gritted his teeth and tightened his hand on the wheel.

3. Scotland didn't beat the hell out of him before he left. That was mostly because Bran saved him and Patrick showed up with his stash of smokes for the nicotine addicted nation.

4. William was at home to take care of Bran. Although...that was a black mark on him since he had bruised Bran's ribs and broken his nose.

5. Patrick was at home safe and dry. Though poor, and probably traumatized, Evelyn was not.

He needed to stop reading those fucking pamphlets. Now he was finding ways to turn plusses into reason to lament. His thoughts lazily circled back to Bran standing in front of him giving William a hit-me-I-dare-you look as he (Arthur) cowered behind his older twin. Maybe they should have wiped the blood from Bran's nose and changed his shirt before they came down, but the twins had been curious as to who slammed the front door.

_Of course it was Evelyn,_ Arthur chided himself.

William had been mid grab to position Bran in a hold that would have made him a useless shield when Patrick had stormed rather angrily into the room. He had shoved the smokes into Williams hand and demanded that he not be shunned from the rooms in the house he was raised in, the house that by all rights meant more to him then all of them combined. They had of course been ashamed. The teenaged nation had then asked where the female hell spawn was at to give her a warning (read: threaten) about taking over his house.

That was how he had stupidly ended up stuck in downtown London traffic. _Like a tourist_,he grumbled to himself.

By now, she was probably sick again. Or beaten up and bleeding in some alley. Or kidnapped by Russia. Honestly, he couldn't leave the girl alone for an hour without her getting into trouble. He hit the steering wheel impatiently. Damn it, why weren't they moving? He could move faster on foot. He tapped the steering wheel a few more times with his thumb thinking about it. They could always find someplace to wait out the rain when he found her...but she might run from him again.

_Screw it._ He pulled off to the side, grabbed the umbrella from the back and started down the rain-drenched sidewalk. There were relatively few people walking about thanks to the downpour so at least he didn't have to fight through crowds. Still, he cut through a couple alleys to save some time. She wasn't moving around anymore which could be good or bad. He hurried his pace mind already overloading with bad scenarios. The buildings became a gray blur; he hardly paid attention to where he was going concentrating on her aura.

He came to a sudden stop cocking his head to the side as he tried to pinpoint her. He backed up a few steps looking through the window of an old tea shop. Evelyn was sitting inside talking to an elderly woman holding a tea cup in her hands like a last lifeline.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she was safe, he reached for the door handle.

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><p>Evelyn thought about what the woman said. Maybe it was true for a normal argument, but she couldn't possibly know about this one. Arthur had lied to her about something <em>huge<em>, life changing huge. It changed everything…if what they told her was true. No, it was still insane. Maybe they were supernatural beings with some weird connection with the land and people, but not her. No way.

_Exactly. That's my job._

_Dude, you can have it._ She groaned and put her head in her hands. _Stop talking to me! You're not making this weirdness any easier._

_You think I want to be stuck in a girl's body?_

It was a legitimate point, but she wasn't in the mind to give it to him. The bell above the door tinkled announcing a new arrival. Evelyn peeked through her fingers and froze.

"May I help you?" the woman asked noticing Evelyn's reaction a fraction of a second later.

"Good Evening, Mary," a familiar male voice said.

"Well aren't you a sight for these poor old eyes, come in Gabriel come in. The good Lord knows I could use some more tan people in my life."

"Evelyn paused really looking at the man. At first she had thought it was Antonio or Spain or whoever the hell he was, but this man...

"And it is good to see your pretty twinkling eyes," he winked playfully at the old woman who laughed like a school girl. "And who is the menina bonita?"

"I'm Evelyn," she mumbled looking away from the dark haired man.

"Ah muito bom, I know who is looking for you," he smiled at her rather airily. Maybe he was related to Spain, but truthfully Evelyn didn't care. How dare they send some stranger after her just so she would drop her guard? As if! She would show them.

"Well I've been found, so now I'll leave!" She stood up slamming her hands on the table her chair moving fast enough to fall over.

"Whoa menina bonita, wait..."

"I will not be made into some game!" She all but screamed at him fist balling.

"Game?" his eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "Arthur hasn't played cruel games since his empire crumbled." It was more of a mumble and Evelyn wasn't sure if she should've heard it.

"Then what do you call this? Him sending you to, what, fetch me?"

"Being a friend." Gabriel sighed moving towards her slowly and with the clear destination of her chair. He righted and gestured at it. "Sit and we will talk."

"I don't want to talk to you," she replied petulantly.

"Then you will listen. England is harsh and England can be cruel but Arthur is loving and Arthur is lonely."

"Well then he should quit being a dick."

"If only it were so simple," he sighed sitting across from her. "I am Portugal. England and myself have had a very long alliance, sim? But England betrayed me when I needed it. He didn't come to my aid when he should have and my people suffered for it. Arthur worried so much he made himself sick. Barely strong enough to stand he made it to a boat and he made it to my shore. He found me then indebted himself so he could afford the supplies needed to take care of me. England may be hard to love, but don't shun Arthur for what he cannot control. Don't be like the rest."

"You make no sense." She took a sip of her tea. They sat in silence before Evelyn stood again this time much calmer.

"Take my umbrella." Gabriel smiled at her. She looked at him moving across the room and taking it.

"Thanks," she muttered opening the door and heading out.

_He's here._ Voice said. She knew because she felt him. It was strange being able to just feel when someone else was close by and knowing exactly who it was.

She turned her head to look at the umbrella that came to her waist on the ground under the shop window. Emerald green eyes peered at her from under the rim as Arthur looked at her from his position on the ground.

"Will you...?" he began. "Do you want...?" he tried again."Can we talk? You can pick the place. I'll tell you everything, just...don't leave me." The last words were a desperate whisper barely heard over the sound of the rain.

"Okay," she said softly to him. He smiled gently before she turned a hard glare on him. "But if I don't like it, you will buy me a ticket home and never contact me again." He nodded eyes still glittering with hope.

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><p>Mary walked out of the back with a cup of coffee. "Did you get her to go home?"<p>

"I tried," Portugal laughed hand on the back of his head in a carefree motion. "It's up to Arthur and her now."

"It was cruel of you to leave him in the rain like that." she smiled at him taking Evelyn's abandoned seat.

"That bastard deserves it. I came all the way here to surprise him and he has drama going on." He gave her a what-can-you-do shrug. "At least I can spend the evening with a pretty lady." He smiled at her.

"And I have free labor for repairs."

He sighed dramatically looking at the retreating umbrellas. _Don't mess this up my friend._

* * *

><p>AN: Finally, another chapter! Sorry, this one would've actually been out earlier, but I'm home from college now and we were having internet issues and since that's how my beta and I communicate and edit this, it delayed things.

Now, I have a small request for you all. Along with this story (even though it's far behind), I'm posting some original writing on deviantart. It's sakurasurichan . deviantart . com (remove spaces). If any of you have some time, I would greatly appreciate if you could go over there, take a look and tell me what you think.

Reviews are loved! Later!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Yeah still don't own it.

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><p>As Arthur finished speaking, he waited for an eternity in his worry. There was silence. The girl had shown nothing through his explanation, not a quiver in her face. It was as if he had been talking to a statue.<p>

They ended up at a bench in the park. It had mercifully stopped raining and now Evelyn didn't feel cornered with all the open space around them. Though, internally, he wanted to take her back home and wrap her in thick blankets. His heart jumped into his throat and he was certain he suffered a mini-stroke when Evelyn started walking toward that tree.

Evelyn had remained facing forward throughout his entire explanation, her gaze fixed on a tree while his flitted nervously all over the place. Now she was walking away from him and he felt the fractures in his soul more clearly than if they had been painted on his skin in florescent paint for the world to see. She turned before reaching the tree half way and made to walk back. Arthur braced his heart for the tongue lashing he was sure to receive.

She didn't look at him, eyes focused hard on the ground. With a yard between them, Arthur felt his resolve break. His lower lip trembled and he bit it to keep it in place which made it hard to breath with his shaking. Then the girl turned walking back towards the tree.

Arthur felt the air whoosh through his lungs. She was just pacing! Pacing like so many of his past Prime Ministers had done when they learned about the nations. He choked on the half hysterical laugh trying to leave her with her thoughts. He had a momentary thought about one of the self-help pamphlets Gabriel had given him, as he cyclically went through the pain and relief of her walking away and back.

Evelyn held herself as taut as a bow the second before it was released during the entire explanation. She did this for Arthur; she had a strange feeling he'd react negatively if she started pacing while he spoke. Her thoughts flew as the words shakily tumbled from Arthur's lips.

Nothing, _nothing_, would ever be the same again. Before all this, before that damn Frenchman had kidnapped her, she was just getting the hang of life. Now, she knew nothing at all. She didn't know what to do and the person she would've asked for help (and that was a scary thought in and of itself—when did Arthur become that person?) was the one who betrayed her. That was the problem. Evelyn felt betrayed and there was no one to go to because they had all betrayed her. Even her own mind was betraying her! Her thoughts would never be her own again, not with this…this voice in her head.

That wasn't the worst part however. No, the worst part, the one that really scared her, was that all they said made some sort of weird _sense_. She wanted to trust Arthur, God she wanted to trust Arthur, and what Gabriel had said stuck with her like a knife to the heart. She had betrayed Arthur by believing he could ever be so cruel to treat her like a pawn. Damn him and his logic! This would be easier without him. Wouldn't it? Hell, she didn't know anymore. She felt like she was shaking all over; adrenaline was building up in her system and she could feel her fingers start to involuntary tap her legs. Life was supposed to be complicated, but was it supposed to be this complicated?!

And she was still mad at Arthur. Damn it, why didn't he trust her?

Finally, she stopped, facing away from him. He did his best to wait patiently for her to say something. His fingers might be tapping against his knee and he might be running a hand through his hair every now and then, but he was being as patient as could be expected.

"I need sleep," she said simply.

Arthur visibly deflated. It was not what he expected, but it wasn't the worst that he could hear. It actually probably meant he would still have more time since she seemed willing to come with him. "The guest room is still made up for you if you wish."

Evelyn nodded once in acknowledgment. Voice had been miraculously quiet for the past few minutes even though he added his own comments during Arthur's explanation. Now, he complained about how he missed over thirty years and he wanted to catch up! Evelyn ignored him. Voice wasn't trying to take over anymore since William (should she call him Scotland?) threatened him.

* * *

><p>The house was silent, the type of silence that left the little hairs on the back of one's head defying gravity, which only served to put Arthur more on edge. He inched warily into the hall keeping his body between Evelyn and the living room. He searched for any sign of his brothers. The shadows in the living room were the same as ever, yet without the lights on Arthur couldn't determine if his living room had made it through the evening unscathed. Paused, body held in a way favorable to jumping away from danger.<p>

Evelyn kicked off her shoes behind him. She hadn't made a sound since her declaration of sleep, but Arthur was determined to see it in a positive light. Evelyn pushed past him almost as if not seeing him and Arthur jogged quickly to get in front of her and defend her from any harm. Arthur found himself wishing Alfred had said something to the girl about his siblings, but her zombie like movements made him think he had not.

A crash had Arthur jumping in front of Evelyn like a valiant sacrifice. Evelyn showed no emotion at the crash, and moved around Arthur's extended arms to get to the guest room. Shouting and muffled sounds he could only hope were apologies shattered the eerie calm of the house. Arthur dashed around the girl once again to protect her from whatever had destroyed whatever had crashed.

They both paused for a minute to look in the kitchen, the one room with a light actually on. A ceramic bowl was in pieces on the floor covered by, what looked like, half-mixed dough. William's trousers were splattered with the mixture Arthur found he couldn't help a laugh. If the liquid didn't have flour in it, it would have looked like William had wet his pants. Patrick held an incriminatingly dough covered wooden spoon, his celery green eyes were bright and his face showed shock as if he couldn't fathom what happened. Bran sat at the table with a cup of tea and a baby sheep on his lap. The look on Bran's face made it appear as if he may have been the reason for the broken mixing bowl despite the fact he was all the way across the room.

Evelyn paused, looked, then continued on like the scene was normal. Which, based on the brothers in the room, it may have been completely normal. This would have been a normal response except for the refrigerator door barely hanging by a hinge. Arthur turned and watched Evelyn just walk down the hall. He turned back to make a list of damages to his kitchen.

On second look, there was a massive amount of dough stuck to the ceiling, most of it dried, though, as he looked at it, he had the strange feeling he had seen this same type of formation in damp caves. Arthur took a deep breath already trying to think of a way to get the stalactite off of his ceiling. He continued to assess the damage around the room, his eyes landing on the clear window in his oven. Something moved in it, something greyish, but he couldn't tell. Suddenly the glob slammed against the window and Arthur could swear he could see fangs as it sucked on the glass.

"I can explain!" Patrick wailed.

* * *

><p>Evelyn woke amazed at the first dreamless night she had in months. She remembered vague images of seeing an asylum with the Kirkland brothers in patient scrubs and cookie dough bubbling down from the ceiling though, for some reason, she didn't think this was a dream. For a moment, she contemplated that she may have actually seen it sometime in her haze from last night. She shook her head removing the thought and smiled as she stretched enjoying that small miracle of sleep.<p>

That's not to say she slept well. No, she was too busy thinking about everything everyone had told her, wondering what exactly made her so special and what she was going to do now. She didn't necessarily like it, but who likes having their life turned upside down? Her life took a real turn when her parents died and now it was taking another completely unexpected horribly large turn that she had no idea how to deal with. She would though. If nothing else, she learned that she would deal and she would figure something out.

_Coffee…._

_Oh, shut up._ She would never get used to that though. Throwing off the covers, she dressed quickly and made her way downstairs concerned when she heard the sounds of cooking in the kitchen. Evelyn rushed into the room staring in horror at the smoke rising from the pan on the stove and the Welshman just standing by intensely watching.

She pushed him aside turning off the flame and removing the pan looking at the bits of charcoal that she assumed used to be sausage in disgust. Bran complained loudly about how he was trying to be nice and she just ruined a perfectly good breakfast, though the smile on his face held hints of evil to it that didn't match the words. Evelyn ignored the smile and gave him a look of pity scraping what she could into the trash and putting the pan in the sink. Bran picked up the salt shaker dashing the charcoal with a few sprinkles. Evelyn raised an eyebrow, wanting to, but not wanting, to ask Voice if it was a Welsh thing.

"I think I'll cook this morning," she replied smiling and placing the pan in her hand in the sink. She thought she heard a thunk from the oven but a look at Bran showed him staring at her. She turned back to the cabinets taking out another pan and a pack of sausages. When she turned to use the stove top however Bran didn't move. He cocked his head at her his face neutral, but a hint of something in his eyes. When she went to open her mouth to ask him to move, Voice screamed that it was a bad idea without knowing if the Welsh brother had consumed three cups of tea yet.

Bran still didn't move standing directly in the middle of the stove, leaning on the ugly green bath towel that was now on the ovens handle. She looked at the towel for a moment. Normally, Arthur had cute little tea towels he had embroidered on the oven, not a full sized bath towel. She set her pan on the oven angling herself to cook around the Kirkland brother who had decided to make a nuisance of himself. Oh well, she smiled to herself turning the stove on without warning. She didn't get the desired reaction, but at least he quit leaning against the stove.

Just as she finished up, Arthur walked in scowling. "Bran, I found your sheep curled up at my feet like a dog again. I know I can't stop you from bringing them in the house, but keep them out of my room!" He stopped abruptly when he noticed Evelyn putting together plates. He raised an eyebrow at his brother eyes widening.

The sucker thing was still in the oven. Turning the oven on had made it subdivide into little sucker things. They had found a mixture that worked, but had basically resorted to sautéing the things until they resembled charcoal in a skillet. The big one they weren't sure about. Bran gave him a head nod letting him know the girl didn't know about the thing. He was afraid it would send her over the edge.

"He made the tea," Evelyn informed Arthur setting the plates on the table and gesturing at Bran.

They ate in silence for a few minutes besides Bran's backhanded compliment, "She's not Franny, but it's not bad." Arthur snorted muttering that France wasn't that good of a cook.

Evelyn forced herself to finish off the last bite before setting her fork down. She took a deep steadying breath then started, "I want to finish college."

Arthur and Bran shared a slightly confused look.

Evelyn continued. "This whole nation thing…I'll probably have to learn a lot of stuff for it, right? I mean, politics isn't my thing and I barely passed Economics and there will be a lot of stuff I'll have to do like you do," she gestured a little wildly at Arthur, "so I'll have to learn all that, but at least I have a guaranteed job. That's better than I thought. I mean, I didn't know what I was going to do. I'm not like Nina who's going on to Law School or Jess is going into graphic design. So, I'll be a nation—not like I have a choice based on what everyone said, you're just born one—but I want to finish college. So, yeah."

No one responded for a moment as they tried to piece together exactly what she said. She didn't realize how much she rushed trough it trying to get it all out before she lost her nerve.

Finally, Bran answered, "There's more than one of us who have multiple degrees. Finishing your one shouldn't be too hard."

As Evelyn glared at his twin, Arthur felt the weight that had been weighing down his shoulders lift. She was staying. She wasn't leaving him. If she had…he didn't know what he would do. He couldn't lose another one, especially not after getting Alfred back after all this time; he would never recover.

"You may have to cut back on your classes," Arthur warned her sipping his tea. "We will work out a schedule for you. You won't just have to learn certain things. There are also several meetings you will have to attend…"

"I thought we weren't trying to scare her away," Bran quipped.

Arthur ignored him. "…and people in the American government you will have to meet." He swore under his breath. "I do not look forward to dealing with that Cabinet again."

Evelyn choked on her coffee. Voice whined about the waste. "Wait, I have to meet the President and all them? Like in the White House?"

_What's the problem with that? I wonder if the couches in the Oval Office are still comfortable. They were great to sleep on._ Voice mused. She could almost see him leaning back with his hands behind his head

_I'm sure they replaced them from the Seventies. And I voted for the other guy!_

"Of course you have to meet your President," replied Bran somewhat mockingly. "We represent our people and we work with our governments. I thought you explained all this?" he asked Arthur rhetorically.

The English twin waved him off. "We'll work on it. We have to introduce you to them soon, however, so they can also get used to the idea of working with you. Just remember, they'll leave office in a few years while you'll still be there."

It felt like a large lead weight just settled in her stomach. What had she just signed up for? She paused taking a sip of her drink.

"Did you kill it?" Patrick called out running into the room. Arthur spat his tea out. The young redhead ran into the kitchen and Evelyn heard him open the oven only for the growling hissing sound to resound through the room. She glanced at the twins. They quickly went back to making sure everything was normal. "Aww all the little ones are gone!" Patrick sighed shutting the oven door.

"What is in the oven?" Evelyn asked suddenly second guessing her decision.

"Chipmunk," Bran spoke suddenly. Patrick loaded a plate with food dancing to the table.

"That didn't sound like a chipmunk," Evelyn glared at him. She wasn't going to do anything if the brothers kept lying to her. William appeared, more zombie like than she had been last night, as he made his way into the kitchen.

"What's in the oven?" Evelyn snarled at him feeling her temper rise.

"Chipmunk," the Scot yawned at her scratching at his stomach.

"It's what I named it." Bran smiled at her. Voice started screaming something about for her sanity, she didn't want to know.

"Not to worry, Evelyn, things like this only happen here," Arthur said trying to give her a smile though it looked rather strained. Evelyn found herself once again reconsidering her decision.

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><p>AN: *warily peeks around the corner holding Captain America shield to protect herself* Hello. I know it's been a while especially since I left it on that cliffhanger and I had such trouble writing this chapter...I hope this makes up for it though! And I already have a good chunk of the next chapter done so you shouldn't have to wait too long for it. Once again, my beta is awesome at characterization!

Thank you to everyone still reading this. Your reviews really do keep me going.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Really, do I have to put this anymore?

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><p>Evelyn smoothed down her hair for what felt like the millionth time that minute then straightened her blouse again. Was it wrinkled? She ironed it and re-ironed it before they had to leave this morning. She even put on some make-up—not much, just some eyeliner and lip gloss like she was going to a career fair—but she double checked it all again. She draped her jacket artfully over her arm like she had seen in the movies going for casual. Was it too casual? Should she wear it? Her nerves had her sweating. Did she smell? Would the jacket cover the smell? Would wearing the jacket tell them she was nervous so they would notice the smell?<p>

_You don't smell. _Voice chimed in her head. He sounded rather amused. _Girls don't smell it's a fact of life. And according to Artie a true gentlemen never tells a woman if she does._ Evelyn licked her lips nervously before putting on the coat again. Voice wasn't helping at all.

_Besides shouldn't you be more worried you wore pants instead of a nice skirt then if you should or shouldn't wear the jacket?_ Evelyn felt her eyes roll. Men, they had it so easy. Even if she had chosen to wear a skirt she would have to worry about etiquette and length of the skirt and if the material would show too much and it was more of a hassle than anything.

_Hey, guys have it hard too! _Voice jumped in on her thoughts.

_No you don't._ She directed at Voice. _Men just need a button down, tie and they change from casual to business with the use of a jacket. Girls' clothes have so many levels!_

_I don't get why you're making such a big deal over this_, Voice groused. _I've met with him in a muddy uniform before. Why do girls need so much stuff anyways?_

_For someone who's supposed to represent the people, you really have no clue. _She pulled on the edges of her jacket before nervously turning her head towards the door.

Arthur had left Evelyn waiting in the anteroom while he proceeded into the Oval Office. He had said it was so he could prepare the President and the Cabinet for her introduction. This declaration hadn't made Evelyn any less nervous. It probably didn't help that Evelyn was pacing unable to sit still for more than a second. And the secretary kept staring at her. Evelyn took a deep breath forcing herself to stand still and think of more pleasant things. She ended up with what happened at the end of her visit with the Kirklands.

After she had agreed to be a nation, they had stayed a few more days in England as Arthur explained some of the finer points of being a nation, but it would still take months to learn everything. The last thing he told her (although he didn't teach her how yet) was that she could literally teleport. _Teleport._ That was mind-blowingly awesome! Then they took a plane to the States. Arthur had also spent the past few days arranging this all important meeting with the President; the American leader seemed intent on delaying, but Arthur was more stubborn and bullied his way through.

Now she waited anxiously. What if they didn't want to believe she was the new nation? What if they refused to see her?

_They'll see you. _Voice chimed in matter-of-factly.

_Why would they? _She hissed at him. Just a few days ago she hadn't believed in any of this and now she had to hope the people governing her country would!

_Artie, will force them to! _Voice shouted happily. _Have you ever seen an angry Kirkland? Not even a tornado wrapped in an exploding volcano super charged with a nuclear blast can stop an angry Kirkland._ Before Evelyn could even begin to explain what was wrong with that situation she jumped, startled, when the secretary's intercom buzzed and a low, gravelly voice asked for her. The secretary motioned for her to go in. Evelyn resisted the urge to bite her lip belaying her nervousness as she opened the door.

The Oval Office looked exactly like in all the movies or news footage she had seen. She could feel the plushness of the carpet through her flats making her want to kick them off and go barefoot. Those couches also looked extremely comfortable…she might sneak in here and sleep on them sometime. There were some perks to this job.

Wait…no…no, sleeping in the workplace was bad. Stupid Voice was a bad influence.

_I have a name and it's not that hard_, Voice pouted. _Alfred. Al. Fred. Say it with me._

_Oh, shut up._

Arthur sat on the left hand couch, ankle resting on his opposite knee, looking a little like an aggravated badger in a business suit. Then again, he usually looked like that so maybe it was a good thing. The Cabinet members ringed the room wearing their crisp suits or cleanly pressed military uniforms heavy with multi-hued ribbons. Most were scowling; a couple looked at her like a rare animal at the zoo. In the center of it all, in his own chair, was the President. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His elbows rested on his knees as he studied her. Maybe she should have kept the jacket over her arm.

Evelyn self-consciously smoothed down her blouse again trying not to nervously bite her lip. Should she introduce herself? That seemed silly since they obviously knew who she was—they called her by name into the office. Arthur saved her from the anxious awkwardness.

"Mr. President, this is Evelyn Summers, the United States of America." Arthur's tone held that annoyed trait she imagined 16th centuries nobles might have had when addressing someone they deemed below them.

Evelyn stepped forward holding out her hand. "It's nice to meet you sir." She smiled nervously trying to remember what the career counselors had told her about handshakes.

"And you Miss Summers." He stood to shake her hand, briefly, before returning to his seat. "Please join us." He gestured to the open seat across from Arthur. Evelyn gave the man a shy smile before looking to catch Arthur's eye. He looked bored. That bored you get when you rather be anywhere but where you are. She praised herself mentally when she was able to sit without tripping over her own two feet.

"Just call me Evelyn please." She saw Arthur roll his eyes, but the hint of an upward tilt at the edge of his mouth gave him away. This was all too formal for her already, was she allowed to smile? None of them men in the room were. She didn't do well with formal; maybe that's why none of her job interviews went well. But the career counselors had told her to smile because it portrayed confidence.

"Evelyn then, Mr. Kirkland explained the circumstances…"

"Mr. President," one of the suits closest to them spoke up. A man who managed to look more annoyed then Arthur though it may have been how close together his eyes were and something with the wrinkles in his forehead. "How can we be sure this girl is actually the nation? All we have is Mr. Kirkland's word and his story…if it's true then he has some influence over her. How do we know this isn't an attempt to assert some control over our country? After all, we haven't had a personification of our nation for decades. Why would one appear now?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but had to forcibly hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Politicians forever focusing on the points that didn't matter. "I explained this all earlier and all the Nations agree, she is one of us. As to your concerns about my 'influencing' her, I raised the first America and no one seemed concerned about my influence on him. In fact, I seem to recall this country celebrating it at certain points in its history." By the end of Arthur's little statement he was all but glaring at the man.

Evelyn clamped her lips shut to prevent the laugh that was bubbling up. Though she snapped to attention when Arthur turned to address her. There was no point in having the Englishman mad at her too.

"Evelyn, meet the Secretary of State." Internally Evelyn paused at the title. She somehow expected him to be named some sort of Satan's spawn or perhaps to have a few distinctly multipurpose English words inserted. "He's always been disagreeable when it comes to us." Then again Arthur was trying to not make a scene.

She stood, holding out a hand and smirking. "Mr. Secretary, pleasure to meet you." _Except I disagree with just about everything you say and your last overseas trip was a total failure._ Yep, she could be diplomatic. No sign of the cross to ward off evil, no yelling that he was an utter idiot and her science teacher from 6th grade could have done better. Completely diplomatic.

_Ouch. Did he really say that about India? She must be pissed!_

_The Indian government was._

_Ha! And they call me an idiot._

_You are. Now shut up._

The President shifted in his seat to better address her. "I have documentation from some years ago on policies and procedures with Nations. I believe it was Theodore Roosevelt that titled it 'How to Work with Your Nation.'" The edges of the man's mouth tilted up with amusement and she could see the laughter in his eyes. She really hoped he couldn't read minds right at this moment.

Arthur smiled only for a moment green eyes swirling with school boy mischief before he schooled his face again.

"We will have to set up a meeting schedule," the President continued. "Let me consult those old notes and we will figure out how all this is supposed to work."

_See now is when you bargain! You don't have to be there though you will affect the nation; they just don't need to know. _She shoved Voice aside mentally as someone else began to speak.

"Mr. President," one of the uniformed men spoke up. He was a little more heavyset, but with that old school boxer build that told you he could get down and be bulldog stubborn. Evelyn thought he was the Secretary of Defense. He looked like he could be a moving defense… maybe in football. "If this girl really is the American Nation, we need to set up a Secret Service detail for her. From what notes my predecessors have left, if the Nation is attacked directly, it can affect the country's overall strength." And he just went on her shit list. She was enough of a klutz on her own she didn't need all of the Secret Service knowing too!

The President nodded. "I'll leave that to you Bill." And now Santa Claus wasn't on her side! Or at lease after seeing him smile like before he somehow managed to become associated with Santa. Maybe being a nation was like being on crack all the time. She was having some of the weirdest thoughts.

"No," Evelyn balked. "I'm not having some guys in suits following me everywhere I go. Besides, it's not like we're at war or anything. Why do I need to be protected?" If she didn't have people following her normal people wouldn't know that she was anything special. Beside Arthur and France didn't!

"You can negotiate that at a later date," Arthur interrupted before the girl could start a tantrum. If it was up to him, she'd have a GPS tracking chip in her skin and a full time security detail. But this wasn't his country, she wasn't his colony and he had a feeling she would maim him if he suggested it. Nations couldn't be killed and he'd hate to see what an angry female could accomplish with time. "There is another issue we must address. Mr. President, about the Massachusetts property?" Arthur let a small smile slip with just a hint of danger. No use being thrown out of the White house on Evelyn's first day. He could do it some other time. Again.

The President sighed. "Yes, we have some concerns of our own in that matter."

_Trying to get land back from the government was like trying to pull teeth or death by 1000 cuts or something like that. And that was back in the old days… _Voice chimed in.

"Especially since you still hold the deed on the Virginia property." The Secretary of State scoffed lightly giving Arthur the same slight smile in return. Evelyn rubbed her hands over her jacketed arms. Suddenly it felt like the room temperature had dropped.

"I was the original owner of that property," Arthur showed teeth in his smile, eyes starting to take on a radioactive hue, "as America was the original owner of the home in Boston."

_Wait, what properties?_ Evelyn asked as the argument continued. It seemed the US government wouldn't give up the Boston property unless Arthur turned over the one in Virginia. Why would England even own property in America? Could Nations do that?

_My houses. There's a townhome in Boston and a plantation-style in Virginia. They've been there since my colonial days._ Alfred answered bored.

Evelyn slipped out her phone since she was now practically ignored by the rest of the room. Not that she wanted their attention, but she was going to put money on Arthur if this turned physical. _Do you remember the addresses?_

_Pfft. Of course I do. Why?_

_Just give me the one for Boston._ She pulled up Google maps as he rattled it off. She zoomed in when the little flag popped up, all the way down to street view, examining the façade. It was cute but showing its age. Whoever had owned it recently hadn't taken the best of care of it.

_Woah! You can do that with your phone? What else can it do? Can we spy on Russia?_

_It's not in real time. They're just pictures. What's the address of the Virginia house?_

Alfred gave it still marveling over the technology.

_There's no street view for this one. It's just outside Williamsburg though. Hold on._ She searched the local historical society.

_Why are you looking there?_

_Arthur may have the deed, but a house this old near Williamsburg…it has to be a historical landmark. Got it!_ Evelyn whistled appreciatively mentally.

_I said it was a plantation-style._ Alfred shrugged.

_Still, you lived here? It's amazing!_ It was a two-story red brick home with marble columns framing the front door and a wrap-around porch that Alfred informed her he added later. While reminiscent of George Washington's Mount Vernon or Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, it was simpler, quainter, built to accommodate a small well-to-do family with few, if any, servants. It was gorgeous complete with a willow tree in the front yard and a porch swing.

_Yeah, they're nice, but what about my other homes?_

_What other homes?_

_I have one in each state, _Alfred declared proudly._ Ask them about my ranches._ He went on to explain the ranches were how he made his money. He was different from other Nations in that he didn't live off the tax money and that was one of the major arguments he had with Arthur before the Revolution.

Evelyn reached across the table snatching up Arthur's folder of information. When a quick look-through didn't reveal anything on the other properties, she grabbed another folder that was slightly larger.

An admiral in the corner, the current Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, watched her smiling to himself when she grabbed the President's folder without inhibition. He sent a quick text to his wife telling her he changed his mind on retiring; things were going to get interesting. Evelyn was ignored by the other members too involved in the main argument. Though a quick glanced at Arthur proved it wasn't too bad, he was still sitting. The girl flipped through the folder stopping at certain pages, checking something on her phone and then moving on. She had a look of such intense concentration on her face, he wondered what she was doing exactly. He soon got an answer as her lighter voice cut through the arguing men.

"Several of the properties have been sold off or in disrepair, but the rest are government run businesses especially the ranches and oil field." She examined some more of the papers. "Talk about government sponsored corporations. Three of these are now Wal-Marts! Let's see, four subdivisions, a strip mall, at least that one's a museum and one destroyed by a tornado. Not bad considering how many tornadoes there have been in the last few decades." She stole a pen and began writing on a nearby legal pad. "The vineyard in California, the ranches in Texas, Montana and Wyoming, the horse farm in Kentucky, the dairy in Wisconsin and the orchards in Georgia, Florida and Washington—I want to add these to the discussion."

"We haven't even finished the initial discussion and she wants to add more!" the Secretary of State exclaimed in some disgust.

"Miss Summers, those properties are…" the President began.

"The property of the American Nation," Evelyn interrupted surprising herself. Alfred encouraged her to keep going and she snuck a quick glance to Arthur who gave her a barely imperceptible nod. "All the deeds to these properties are on public record as belonging to Alfred F. Jones and his heirs. I am the new Nation, the United States of America, meaning I am Alfred's heir. Those properties legally belong to me." She paused to take a breath. There was only a slight quaver in her voice, but they hadn't interrupted her yet. "They are also necessary since I refuse to live off the people's taxes. I'll make my own money."

"All of this and the two houses? Young lady, I don't think…" the Secretary of State said patronizingly.

Evelyn cut him off deciding she really didn't like this particular politician. She disliked most of them on principle, but this one she might just hate. "This is just for starters Mr. Secretary. All of the properties on this list," she held up the list to emphasize her point, "rightfully belong to me as the American Nation. However, since I know there is a legal procedure to all this and there hasn't been a Nation for thirty years or so, we'll start with these and go from there." She quickly scratched out a copy of the short list placing the nicer copy in the folder and holding onto the other.

She looked around the room waiting for someone to speak up. "Right, well, it was nice to meet you all." She nodded awkwardly and then left the room stopping only when she reached the door they entered. She was shaking and breathing a little too heavily.

* * *

><p>Arthur turned his head examining the others in the room with a grin on his face rivaling the cat who got the cream after eating its owner's canary. "So do you still want to debate the Virginia property with me or would you like me to tell her about the Florida and Hawaii properties? I'm sure the cabinet members can find better places to vacation." Arthur let the gleam of his white teeth peak though his lips.<p>

The Secretary of State's mouth snapped shut.

"Mr. Kirkland," The Secretary of Defense began.

"England," Arthur snapped eyes flashing. "To use one of the farmer President's analogies, I will be the stick that trains this particular group on the workings of Nations. The current America may be new, but do not think that this will mean she will be easy to take advantage of. Until such time that I feel this office is giving the proper respect to the personifications you shall call us all by our nation names, and yes the others are on board." Arthur glared at the Secretary of State as he started to open his mouth. Arthur stood and straighten his jacket.

"And yes, you'll have to cover your own asses, don't want the public knowing about us hmm?" Arthur turned briskly moving towards the door.

"I'll follow you out Sir England," the Admiral moved following at Arthur's shoulder. They shut the door behind them Arthur looking at the grizzled man out of the corner of his eye.

"I have my resignation letter in my pocket," the Admiral told him. "Texted my wife today and told her I was staying." Arthur's face gave nothing away as he turned to face the man. "I'm sick of it all, sick of the petty politics that stop what needs to be done and I don't have the drive of my youth for this to be fun. But after today…" He met Arthur's eyes. "After today I want to laugh in their faces as this girl runs laps around the ruins of their carefully made plans." He gave Arthur a smile. "You tell her she can come to me and I'll have people in the Pentagon for her to learn from if she wants. I'll have her clearance badge by the end of the day." Arthur nodded at the man shaking his hand with a punk like sneer.

"I'd like to, as you Americans say, give the current party a California hello," Arthur's grip was firm as they shook once again.

"I'll let you lead her out and talk to her myself later." The men smiled and parted.

* * *

><p>When Arthur laid a hand on her shoulder, Evelyn jumped a foot in the air.<p>

"Are you all right?" he asked backing off slightly. She had America's strength now, although it wasn't reliable, and he didn't fancy going through another wall.

She laughed nervously. "Heh, yeah, just great. Oh my God, did I really just do that? I mean, I basically just told the highest bureaucrats in our government to go screw themselves. And this is our first meeting! Ugh, I am so not cut out for this." She hid her face in her hands.

Arthur sighed placing a hand lightly on her shoulder again to lead her outside. "Actually, you did quite well. They will try to manipulate you because they haven't dealt with their own Nation before. Don't let them."

Evelyn nodded. "Thanks."

"Why don't we take a drive? I want to show you something."

* * *

><p>AN: So not as quickly as I wanted, but I'm getting better! Thank you to my lovely beta and all my readers.

Reviews are loved!


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Really don't think I should have to put this anymore...

* * *

><p>There was an accident on I-95, but that wasn't unusual. Arthur cursed under his breath at the stupidity of American drivers. He bearded his teeth in a primal snarl as he threatened to do some impossibly unpleasant things to the people who kept honking their horns, Evelyn rolled her eyes mentally at the other drivers as if honking would make traffic move faster. She idly looked past the sea of cars to the Virginian landscape beyond wondering if she could snap a picture of Arthur's snarl to put on her door for any wayward drunks late at night. This particular stretch of interstate was still more nature than suburbs and the trees were just beginning to turn for autumn.<p>

"You know, for an almost immortal being, you have no patience," she said to the window watching as his nose scrunched like an angry bull dog.

Arthur snorted face relaxing though his knuckles turned white on the stirring wheel as they inched forward with the rest of traffic. "I have great patience—I raised colonies—just no time for idiocy." Arthur growled out in chopped sentences eyes narrowing on the road as he eyed the driver who was trying to cut him off in the non-moving traffic.

Alfred mumbled something that sounded like Arthur smacked him around the head when he was younger. Evelyn smirked choosing not to take the opening to tease him since she was busy pretending to ignore him.

A phone chirped and Evelyn looked at her phone frantically. She paused realizing the sound actually wasn't her ring tone, not that it stopped her from checking the screen to confirm it wasn't hers. She had thought she set it to vibrate this morning because of the meeting and she didn't recall to reset it after. There was no message however. Then Arthur reached into his jacket pocket pulling out a sleek smartphone and quickly checking it. His thumb flicked across the screen and over dramatic frown marred his features.

"Damn snail-eater." Arthur snarled like the bull dog he was trying to imitate. Evelyn face froze as she focused on the revelation that Arthur—Arthur "Old Man" Kirkland—had a smart phone, better yet he texted! She snatched it from his hand without thinking examining it closely. It was brand new! And a Samsung no less! Arthur snatched the phone back giving her a milder version of the face he had been making at other drivers. He quickly turned back to the road and his upper lip quivered as that driver who had tried to cut him off attempted to take the two inches that had appeared in front of the car as traffic inched. Evelyn continued to gape at him still perplexed by this new revelation.

"How do you have a smart phone, but no computer?" she finally asked her voice slightly accusing.

He shrugged finger relaxing as he lifted one hand from the wheel to flip of the driver who hadn't made it into the space in front of him. "It can do everything a computer can so why have two machines?" He would not admit to her that he needed Kiku to show him how it worked nor that the Japanese Nation often had the Kirkland brothers test his new technologies. After all, if _they_ couldn't destroy it, it was very unlikely anyone else could. Patrick had taken the game systems with him during Evelyn's stay so she still didn't need to know about those either.

"It's easier to type on a computer," Evelyn argued. Ignoring the fact that she had just seen a grown man who concurred countries flip someone off twice in traffic. Once in the British version and followed it up with the California hello.

"Perhaps for longer documents, but I'm hardly called upon to write those anymore. Besides, I've found I think better writing with pen and paper." He seemed happier now that he had offended someone and could watch the driver in the other car though a fit out of the corner of his eye.

She slumped back in her seat as the traffic continued to inch forward. "Where are we going anyways?" she asked changing the subject since she was losing the argument.

"You'll see," Arthur answered.

Alfred laughed in her mind. _And you call me the idiot! It's obvious where we're going._

_Not to me it isn't._ She replied sourly, but he refused to tell her anymore.

Hours and many useless threats later, they entered Williamsburg and Evelyn visibly perked up. Arthur skirted the town proper appearing to head towards the historical site. He ignored those exits as well and it finally dawned on the American girl with embarrassing clarity what Arthur was showing her.

A long gravel drive framed by woods led up to the stately manor sitting empty, almost expectant, on top of a small rise. The picture provided by the historical site did it little justice and Evelyn stared awed by the house. For a moment, Alfred's memories of the place overwhelmed her. There was a lump in her throat and her eyes welled from the force of the emotion. Alfred was incredibly fond of the place even though he had stayed away for decades after the Revolution. The fight with his father figure had cut him just as deeply, but he was just as proud and stubborn as the one who raised him and neither wanted to be the first to apologize so they continued to hurt each other instead. Evelyn mentally threw her hands in the air determining they were both idiots. The revelation drove home again just how very _human_ these Nations were and she shuddered at how many wars in history were actually overblown family feuds.

Alfred winced. _That makes us look like a bunch of assholes._

_Yes, it does,_ Evelyn agreed neutrally, _but that's part of being human I guess._

Hopping out of the car, they were greeted by a light breeze carrying the scent of the river hidden by another copse of trees behind the manor. Evelyn followed Arthur to the front door noting the nearby barn had been converted into a garage.

_Stay away from my cars._ Alfred growled in her head.

_Not like you can drive them_, Evelyn smirked back growing more curious. _Besides, you don't even know if they're still there._

That set off what can only be equated to a conspiracy theorist's panic attack. Alfred went on about the different cars and the care he had put into each one before going on to berate the government for daring to take his property. He had rights damn it! He was there when Patrick, Sam and James came up with them so he knew them better than anyone. It was an affront to his very self! Then he started to lapse into the speech more common at the time of the Revolution and Evelyn dissolved into a fit of laughter. By this time they were standing in the middle of the horribly outdated living room with its dust covered furniture and Arthur turned to her in some concern.

She waved him off explaining between giggles. The Brit sighed rolling his eyes heavenward. "Your precious cars are still there git. Nobody's touched anything on this property since you up and died."

This only slightly mollified the near hysterical voice in her head who proclaimed, loudly although she was the only one who could hear him, that he would not be satisfied until he saw every last one for himself. Evelyn repeated this for Arthur's benefit silently pleading with her eyes. She _loved_ old cars.

"You'll have plenty of time to look later. I want to show you the rest of the house first." He looked around at the covered furniture. Now that she wasn't distracted, Evelyn felt like the house was cold, haunted almost, and anything could be hiding under those sheets just waiting for the sun to go down to claw at her. It also smelled musty and dust swirled in the sun beams streaming through the newly uncovered windows. "Let's uncover everything as we go. There's no need for all this anymore." He grabbed the sheet from a nearby chair tearing it off almost gleefully.

"You planning on staying here?" Evelyn asked moving to the other chair to help.

Arthur snorted clearly conveying how dense he thought she was. "Not tonight. Things will need to be cleaned up first. I'll stay in one of the spare rooms when I visit, if you'll have me, but I thought you might like to move in. William and Mary isn't all that far so you could finish up your classes there. Not to be offensive, but this house is a fair sight better than your current residence even in its current state."

"It's not that bad," Evelyn defended the admittedly crappy apartment. She had seen a whole lot worse when they had gone apartment hunting last year. Their "current residence" was the best they could afford and, while it had a habit of leeching heat and the oven took forever to warm up, it at least didn't have bugs or mold or questionable stains everywhere. Then the full impact of the Brit's statement sunk in and she paused with the dust cover still in hand. "Wait, me? Move in here? Artie, I can't afford this place! Besides, it's a historical landmark."

He sighed turning to face her seriously. "You're going to have to get over that particular quirk. _All_ of our properties are historical landmarks when you get right down to it." He thought about that for a moment and then added an amendment. "Except for France's. His houses have been destroyed—accidentally and maliciously—so many times I've lost count. Anyways, the property has been paid off for years and the taxes are waived for us. Besides all that, there is a certain status with being a Nation and your government will never take you seriously if you always look like a lost college student." He jerked another dust cover off the furniture turning away from her. His voice was a little thick when he spoke again. "I'll give you the deed once I find it again. Ask the idiot where he kept the broom. We might as well clean up a bit while we're here."

Evelyn suspected that giving up this house was hurting him more than he wanted to let on. She tactfully decided not to push him, however, retrieving the broom and duster from the hall closet. She still wasn't sure about moving into this house. It felt too alien or like she would be invading. This wasn't her house. It was too distinctly Alfred's.

_You can change the furniture if you want,_ the ghost in question interjected. _I'm not too attached to it and it probably smells like mothballs by now._

_How nice of you._ She responded sarcastically. Evelyn sighed trying to pull herself together. She had to be the strong one here. Arthur was a mess, or at least that's what she guessed since he hadn't turned to face her in a bit, and Alfred was looking at all the things that had made up his life and would never be his again.

A couple hours later, Arthur called it quits determining that it was too much for the two of them. "I'll take you back home then I'll find a professional cleaning crew for this." He threw down the dust rag, that was blacker than the blue it had started as, in some disgust leading her outside.

The sun was almost completely down and they both felt grimy. The garage caught her eye again almost immediately and she looked at Arthur pleadingly. Resigned, he tossed her the keys and, with a squeal of delight, she raced to the padlocked door. The door clattered against the wall as she searched for the light switch per Alfred's directions. Surprisingly, most of the bulbs still worked and Evelyn gasped at the treasure trove they revealed. All the cars had been covered to protect them just like the furniture inside, but Alfred's memories told her exactly what was under each. A '69 Shelby next to a '68 Camaro across from the '50's Mustang, all with racing stripes; there was a World War II motorcycle and a Depression-era Ford truck. There were more than that, but her brain was starting to short circuit.

_Evelyn,_ Alfred cooed his voice sounding depressed. _Evelyn, Artie…_ he trailed off. He gasped almost as if he was bracing himself. _ Evelyn you can't leave Artie alone at this house._ Evelyn blinked at the concern in Alfred's voice. _We can look at the cars later, but Artie gets really sad when he's left here alone and then it can get scary. Please Evelyn._

Evelyn took a deep breath once again remembering the impact of what was going on and how human the Nations were. "I've got Arthur," She whispered to him not realizing the promise she was making. She walked out the evening twilight framing the back of the house as the setting sun's rays brushed against her back. Arthur slowly turned away from looking at the giant maple tree in the yard.

Evelyn couldn't help the image Arthur made of a worried parent sitting on the swing on the porch. A worried parent who's kid had never come home. They looked at each other for a moment before the edges of his mouth upturned as he stood and moved towards her.

"If you're done gawking, we really should get going."

She couldn't help the smile that echoed on her own face.

"Can I drive this time?"

* * *

><p>Despite the transfer of the property going slowly, the house in Virginia was cleaned and Evelyn had decided to suck it up and move in. It did help her decision when Jess got a paid internship in California with a Japanese company and Nina magically got accepted into a expenses paid exchange program to Spain. With all her friends gone, she couldn't afford the apartment and there wasn't anything tying her there. She could use the money she would have spent on furniture and business suits or whatever clothing she needed for the world meeting. She really hadn't paid attention to what the girls had worn to the meeting… then again she would rather buy furniture. That couch in the living room really was hideous and not even comfortable. Ugly comfortable furniture she could live with, but this couch needed to be burned.<p>

She didn't have much to move since the last apartment came fully furnished. Everything fit into a rented car and she applied for a transfer to the College of William and Mary on a part-time basis. Surprisingly, a packet had come for her in the interim with a security pass that, the note claimed, would get her into any government building. The note was signed by an admiral who told her to call or stop-by if she ever needed help.

Evelyn sighed as she got out of the car. She had a day of moving in her clothes and random belongings then she would have to slowly unpack the boxes she had already moved in earlier. As she looked up from the gravel drive she couldn't believe she had missed two cars in front of her in the driveway. She paused almost as shocked at Alfred's silence at her own slip up. The cars had western state license plate like they were rental cars but one was completely dented up. She was starting to wish she had waited for Arthur, but he had had to go back to take care of government things he couldn't do on his smart phone.

_Oh golly gee whizzers!_ She froze her mind not registering what Alfred had just said… and meant! She had never heard that phrase except for in jokes! _Bug Out! _Alfred cried_. Bug out! _When she just blinked he screamed, _Run!_

Despite moving to the balls of her feet she didn't move. _Why?_

_Abort mission! Run for your life before it's too late! I'll explain when we're clear! This is worse than when the British were coming!_

Before Evelyn could follow the advice of the voice of panic the front door banged open and a golden skinned woman in an emerald sari with jet black hair in a bun came out. Her eyes locked onto Evelyn more efficiently than a homing missile and a slow wide smile slid across her face. It was not an altogether welcoming smile more predatory like a cat going after the canary. Evelyn really hoped a pizza delivery guy was pulling up the lane behind her and that she wasn't the canary.

_Run! You have the home field advantage,_ Alfred screamed in frantic horror.

"So you're the little girl everyone's talking about." The woman had a rich voice which cooed with a cress. She had that sound like she was greeting an old friend, but before Evelyn could focus the woman was right there next to her. She put an arm around Evelyn's shoulders and half-dragged the girl inside with a strength hidden by her petite frame. The door swung shut with a thud.

"I missed the last world meeting—they're so incredibly dull—and that half-witted Englishman has been actively trying to keep you from the rest of us, darling. He actually thinks we'll scare you off. I don't know where he got that idea; it's a little insulting to be honest." The living room passed in a blur as Evelyn tried to grind her heals into the carpet and escape. "So! We thought we would come and welcome you to the family, get to know you and all that." The woman spoke quickly barely giving Evelyn a chance to comprehend what she was hearing.

By this time they had entered the kitchen and the most incredible smells were coming from the pots on the stove and the back door was open revealing a very tall, tan man with brown hair cooking at a grill. Wait, she had a grill?

"It's nice to meet you, really," Evelyn tried to be as polite as possible while trying to disengage the woman from her arm. If Alfred was scared of this woman, it was best to be cautious, "But who are you and how did you get in?" Evelyn attempted to smile as she spoke to cover up her alarm at not being able to get the woman off.

She laughed. "You really _are_ America, aren't you?" The woman spoke in a way that made Evelyn feel like a little dog that had just done something interesting. The woman hugged Evelyn suddenly imitating the style of the overly rich on television. "You're just so innocent!"

Evelyn pushed away quickly mildly disturbed. At least she had let go.

The woman laughed again. "I picked the lock of course." She gave a halfhearted conversational laugh. "Arthur had this nasty habit of trying to lock me up." She smiled at the girl.

"_What?!"_ Evelyn choked out appalled. Her mind spinning with everything that was happening. The man outside turned around at the high pitched sound looking at the women questioningly. Now that she could see his face, he looked to be around her age…and would be completely cute if he hadn't broken into her house. Then again he was making food.

_Don't think it._ Alfred chimed completely dead-pan.

She waved it off. "It was in his Empire days, dear. He's much better now." She once again gave Evelyn her cat smile. "I'm India by the way, Laxmi, but most people can't pronounce it correctly and so everyone calls me by my Nation name." She had that look that said if Evelyn tried her name and botched it that she would eat Evelyn for a mid-morning snack.

"And I'm Joshua also known as Australia." Evelyn turned eyes going wide as she looked at him. His accent was to die for…wait, Australia belonged to the commonwealth, did that mean they were family? Ewww….

_I told you not to think it._ Alfred added.

"Pleased to meet ya, Sheila." He came in holding a plate laden with burgers. Evelyn felt it wasn't incest… was it incest? She was thinking too hard now. Cute guy with food not an option. It was a sad day in the neighborhood. "Chris, that's New Zealand by the way, is around here somewhere." He finished with a dazzling smile. So he was gay. Maybe she could analyze them and see how this went relationship wise. She had heard the good ones were gay or taken, sometimes both; never family. Wait, but New Zealand was part of the Commonwealth too…maybe she should just stop thinking for the day.

"It's Christopher," said another voice from the living room door. She jumped slightly startled by the voice. He looked similar to Australia, only shorter and not as muscular. More science geek and adorable in his own way. Mentally she labeled them the smart kid and the star quarterback. "The library is still lacking." He stated simply before sitting at the table grabbing some kind of Indian flat bread. And a bit of a jerk Evelyn amended mentally.

_He's besties with Wales. _Alfred spoke up. _Good to have in your back pocket not a lot of countries notice him and he knows a lot. He's shunning you already because he thinks you'll over look him for the Aussie._ She made a note to thank Alfred later and took in the table.

Evelyn remembered getting curry a couple times with Arthur in London, but she couldn't remember the names of some of the other dishes he ordered. Her best bet was going to be copying the others and hoping there wasn't different customs for men and women.

"I'm Evelyn and I'm working on my library." She felt a need to defend herself from this group. That and buy better locks. They just so casually invaded that she couldn't help, but think of it as an invasion of her territory.

They ate burgers and curry. It was an interesting combination, but not one Evelyn necessarily disliked. She had a weird feeling she was being tested or they were bonding she wasn't sure. India was happy to tell her to keep all the leftovers like it wasn't her house or that she didn't know they couldn't take it on an airplane. They asked her a lot of questions which bordered on interrogation, but they did it all so happily it was like a friendly family dinner from an old television show. All in all it was extremely awkward and she wasn't looking forward to a repeat performance. Evelyn sighed looking at the dishes from that meal already dreading the idea of washing them, but, with a wave of her hand, India ordered the boys to clean and swept Evelyn off to the upstairs.

"This house needs a woman's touch. America was terrible at decorating you know; too much English in him not enough French. Unless you believe the rumors and it's actually Spanish." She waggled her eyebrows at Evelyn as if she was telling her a great conspiracy. "You need more color, darling! Some nice curtains maybe and certainly new furniture. Oh, that bedspread will just _have _to go." She threw open windows and left drawers open in her wake as she moved through the rooms.

They entered the master bedroom. A four-poster king bed sat in the middle of the room with the windows on the right and the door to the bathroom on the left. At the foot was a plain wooden chest with several scratches covered by a dark stain. Across from that was the closet and armoire. The wood floor was covered with an expensive looking area rug. The bedspread India found so hideous was a faded blue with an American flag blanket folded at the foot. Evelyn had the brief thought that Arthur must've done it. The way everything was neatly pressed and folded reminded her of the rooms at his house in London. She couldn't see Alfred taking the time to make sure all the lines ran parallel like were.

Evelyn backpedaled. "I was just going to stay in one of the other rooms," she started quietly. "I mean, I don't have anything to fit a king bed and it just feels like an invasion of privacy with Alfred still technically around." She didn't think Arthur or Alfred could handle the finality of her moving into Alfred's room and making it her own.

India waved that off snorting at the absurdity of it. "The idiot's in your head sweetie. You can forget about privacy. He's there no matter where you go or what you're doing." Evelyn had tried not to think about that, but when it was rubbed in her face like that…

_Why does everybody call me an idiot? I'm not _that_ bad._ Alfred protested.

"We just need to clear out some of this crap and make it your own. Oh, you don't know how good it is to have another girl around! Seychelles is a good girl, but she's a little too obsessed with fish to be honest." India took a lock of Evelyn's hair and tugged on it lightly. "You should grow your hair out just a bit. You would have so many more options."

Evelyn moved out of the woman's reach. "I really don't have the money to spend right now. One of the other rooms has a smaller bed and not as many…personal things." Evelyn tried to placate the woman. She really didn't want to air Arthur and Alfred's emotional baggage to her.

Once again, India waved her off. It seemed to be one of her favorite gestures. She reached into her sari pulling out a rectangular piece of plastic and dangling it in front of Evelyn's nose. "You just need access to the right account missy and I know just how much Arthur has in his emergency account." She smiled as if she expected Evelyn to bow down and worship at her feet,

Evelyn leveled an incredulous look at the Indian Nation. "You want me to steal from Artie? To decorate a house?" She couldn't imagine stealing… from the man who took her in when she was just a random girl off the street.

"Stealing is such an ugly word. You're part of the family now and this is what family is for, darling. If it makes you feel better, just pick out what you want and I'll do all the buying."

Evelyn tried to resist, really she did, but India didn't understand the word no and they ended up at the nearest mall. The American girl swore she would never ride with India again; where did the woman learn to _drive_? She also tried saying nothing caught her eye, but India started picking things out for her and Evelyn really didn't like some of her choices. Color was fine, but some of other Nation's picks were just too outlandish. Finally, they had enough to appease India, but Evelyn still winced at the bill. She would pay Arthur back…eventually.

Now she just had to find a way to get the car keys.

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><p>AN: A wild update appeared! So this one actually had to be edited twice by my beta because the first one somehow got lost...and now India has a touch of Cruella de Vil about her...*sigh*

Historical Note: The names Alfred mentions are Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams and James Madison. The first two were leading Anti-Federalists (opposed to the Constitution) and Madison (a Federalist) was the one who proposed the Bill of Rights in order to appease the Anti-Federalists. I think America's Founding Fathers are far more interesting when you get into their real histories and not the propaganda they teach in public school. Seriously, go look up some of the stuff on Adams. The guy was a smuggler!

Thank you to everyone still reading. Reviews are loved!


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